


Meet Me In The Fade

by GypsySisters, songsforclem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:57:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsySisters/pseuds/GypsySisters, https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsforclem/pseuds/songsforclem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up where the events of Dragon Age Inquisition leave off, Avalon Lavellan is brokenhearted, and Cullen intercedes to care for her. Will she discover the truth about Solas? Can she forgive him? And will she be able to save Solas from his fate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Penance

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fanfiction. Fiction was always something that intimidated me. Well...it did intimidate me...until I had this story idea. Dragon Age pulled this story out of my heart & there's no going back! I encourage you to comment & share & get involved with it. It really boosts me up to get feedback and to hear that others are excited about my writing.
> 
> Obviously I don't have rights to any of Bioware's characters or plot, no infringement intended, etc, for this entire work. ^_^ Thanks for reading!
> 
> \--songs for clem

 

-Penance-

He sought out Mythal because she was the only one who knew him for who he truly was. Who else could understand the magnitude of his failure? Who else had the capacity to empathize with his loss? The orb had shattered, and, with it, The Forgotten Ones would be lost forever where he had hidden them so long ago. He brought them through the Eluvian to keep them safe, but that was in another time. In this age, the blights were corrupting them, they were no longer safe, and he needed to rescue his people before any more of them perished.

Now, that would never happen. Everything was lost.

Even his lover was lost to him, now, for how could he stay with her?  _Ma Vhenan, Avalon Lavellan._  He held her name in his mind like a eulogy. After all the death and loss that his mistake had caused, how could he expect her to understand his grief? And, what about the possibility that his dear Avalon would not only understand his grief, but accept him in the midst of it? What if she found compassion for him in that wild and amazing heart of hers?

No. He did not deserve her compassion. He deserved the weight of this pain. He deserved to be shackled to the consequences of his mistakes. He deserved to pay.

He was not merely Solas, the elven apostate. He was Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. He would carry that burden with him for the rest of his days.

He would return to the life of a wanderer, roaming from place to place, losing himself in old ruins, tempting fate to take his meager husk of a life. Perhaps he would make a mistake, and death would find him, swift and vicious. Perhaps a sweet release awaited him.

Before his penance, he needed confession. He needed to know that someone else bore witness to the atrocities that he was responsible for. He needed to know that, if he died, the burden of his sins would lie on his shoulders. He wanted his condemnation to live on in the memories of another.

Who can the old gods seek out for confession, but each other? The irony was not lost on him.

And, so, it was Mythal, his old friend, that would play the role of his priest. He came to her, downcast, burdened by despair. He let his forehead fall into her embrace, like a wolf nuzzling for comfort. He came to be seen, to empty his cares in a momentary release.

His heart roared like the wind and sank like a stone. How could one's soul feel so wild and yet so thick? Every corner of his being was cracking, and feelings poured out at every fissure. It was too overwhelming, feeling so much. It was too much.

And, then, it happened before he could stop it: from all around a dark force pulled the wind right out of him, gathered together the pieces of his soul, grinding them, crushing them. And that is when he felt it: Mythal's soul cut into his back like a cold blade, and funneled into his body, filling him with her mind, her memory, her soul, and her dark heart.

He felt her look up, through his eyes, the black smoke of her possession dissipating as her spirit settled in.

He felt her reach out with his arms to catch her now lifeless body.

He felt her stand on his legs and move towards the mirror before her.

"Dear old friend," she said. "I will hold you together."

What was left of his mind grew wild with fear. This is not what he asked for. He tried to scream, but even the thought was strangled under her prowess. Her soul was a black blanket, binding him, smothering out his will to live and strangling him in the darkness.

His life was flickering.

It was so tempting to let go, to allow what pieces of his identity that were left to be crushed, dispersed, and merged with Mythal's magnetic and commanding presence.

But no: this is not what he wanted. He would not be snuffed out. Yet, what could he do?

There was only one way to fight. He pulled himself together. He buried himself deep inside this body. And he waited for Mythal to fall asleep.


	2. The Final Rift

\- The Final Rift -

_Water rushed over her. She flailed her arms, struggling to breathe. A wave crashed over her, pushing her under, spinning her around in the tide. She was but a leaf, made of skin and bones, twisted and churned at the whim of the waves._

_Deeper and deeper, she was pulled, one wave under another, deeper away from the storm. Too far away from the light, too far away from the air. She'd never reach the surface in time._

_She let out her last breath, an explosion of bubbles scurrying toward the surface, and slipped into unconsciousness as the water filled her lungs._

Avalon awoke with a start, gasping for air. It was a dream...the same dream, again and again, but just a dream.

And yet, now that she was awake, she did not feel relief.

She had accomplished so much. The Inquisition had accomplished so much. All the rifts were sealed. Corypheus was defeated, and his dragon was dead. Order was slowly being restored to the nations of Thedas. The Chantry was rebuilt. The mages were wielding unprecedented freedoms with grace and honor. The Dalish elves were now respected in light of her actions as an elven "Herald of Andraste."

It was victory. She knew this. And yet? It was incomplete.

"That damn elf," she muttered. Solas was gone. In his absence, she carried a rift in her chest where her heart should have been, a wound no anchor could heal.

Avalon pushed back the covers, and walked out onto the balcony, to the spot where they'd first kissed. Or was it the second place they'd kissed? Should she count the kiss in the Fade? Despite her melancholy, a smile escaped her. She never could decide.

She rested her hands against the cool stone and leaned on the balcony, taking in the peaceful view.

What she wouldn't give to be back in the thick of things, with her mission so clear, and the promise of love so tangible. Back then, they were too busy fighting for the future; she never thought she'd have time to think about the past. But now? She wished she'd taken more time to pause, to soak up all the little details, so that she could better remember.

She remembered the way the sun glowed upon their skin.

She remembered the crisp air, and a chilly breeze, coming down off the mountains. How he'd tilt his head and gaze into her eyes.

Solas turned to walk away, and she caught his arm, pulling him to her side. "It would be kinder in the long run but losing you would…"

Her heart seized at the memory of their embrace. It ached more than any wound she'd ever suffered in the flesh. She caught her breath, and crumbled up on the floor. The tears came fast. She was heaving. The emptiness was too much. Just like her dream, she was caught up in a tide of feelings, and they were pulling her under. When would the pain go away? When would it get better?

Solas was her anchor. Only he could make this right. Only he could seal the rift in her heart. But he was gone.

When she looked up, she saw a familiar face. Cole. He had never appeared in her chambers before, yet here he was: crouching down to lock eyes with her own. He cocked his gaze, and said, "Where the heart should be, there is a hole, and it cannot be filled."

Avalon was startled, but her shock quickly gave way to relief. She hadn't spoken of her grief to anyone. She suspected her companions knew she must be struggling with Solas' disappearance, but until this moment, she hadn't revealed her feelings to anyone.

To have her sorrow acknowledged, it gave her a degree of peace. "Yes," she sighed. "And the hole is eating me up." And then came the tears. She sat there, on the balcony, weeping into her hands, the sobs racking her breath. She felt like a collection of broken pieces, held together by bits of string. Cole gently placed his hand on her neck and guided her head down to rest on his lap. Then he stroked her hair.

What a strange sight they must have been: the leader of the Inquisition being coddled by a spirit who looked like a wayward boy. But: this is what settled her; and, as a Spirit of Compassion, Cole knew it. He knew the way her mother used to lay her head in her lap and run fingers through her hair. As a child, it never made her feel safe, but it did bring her comfort, as if her mother was trying to say, "I cannot change the world, but, in this moment, I can show you love."

After her breathing calmed, she wiped her eyes and sat up. "Thank you, Cole."

He looked at the floor between them, considering his next words. "Where the heart should be, there is so much pain." He let his gaze flicker back up into her eyes, "If it is too much for you, I could help. I could take the pain away."

Avalon contemplated Cole's offer.

She could be freed from this weight. She could forget she ever loved Solas, or she could even ask Cole to remove him from her memory completely. She could have a fresh start, a spotless mind with which to greet a new day.

As she considered the promise of freedom, however, she knew the only answer she could give. "No," she replied. "This is my burden to bear. I don't know how to endure it, but I know that I must. In order to be true to who I am, I must allow myself to feel. Even if it hurts."

Cole sighed. Was it a sigh of relief? "Then, I will sit here with you, if that is alright."

"Yes, Cole," she replied. "I would like that."

And then, under her breath, she whispered to Solas, wherever he might be: "Ar lath ma, vhenan."


	3. Wilderness

 

_It always began in the same place: the home that the Witch of the Wilds had made for herself, deep in the wilderness, away from any civilized soul. Whenever Mythall sipped into sleep, Solas spun her a dream to keep her occupied with memories of her old life, then set off into the Fade, in search of Avalon, in the hopes that she, too, was dreaming._

_The Korcari Wilds stretched out before him: endless, like the four winds; harsh, like his gaping heart. The occasional cedar towered over piles of fallen trees and scorched limbs; haphazard trunks, broken and rigid, jutted out of dank swamp waters, like the limbs of a creature frozen while drowning. The wind shifted, and a gust of dust burst into his face. Reflexively, he hid behind his arm._

_There wasn't much time. With each moment that went by, he could feel bits and pieces of himself disappearing and fading away. He doubted there would ever be enough time. He doubted what he was attempting was even possible. To travel through the Fade, searching for a dreamer, in order to connect across distance and memory…to his knowledge, no one had ever dared such a feat before. However, if he had any hope of reclaiming his life, this was the only way._

_Where were the spirits? Where were the signs of life? This was a barren wasteland, uniquely solitary, even for the Fade._

_He set out across the wilderness, the Black City looming overhead. The ground was hard. The terrain was unforgiving. Solas loosened his mind, pulling up memories of Avalon, hoping to shape the dream around him into a path that would lead back to her. But, either she was not dreaming, or she had closed herself off from her dreams, for the Korcari Wilds simply blended from one muggy swamp into another, an endless, repetitive landscape._

_And, yet, Solas pressed on._


	4. Moving On

 

Now it was winter. The orange leaves had fallen off the courtyard's trees and scattered out over the mountain slopes. The birds had stopped migrating overhead. The sky was big and bare under a bright cold sun.

The late afternoon light pierced through the clear windows of the war room. Avalon Lavellan leaned, her back against the grey wall, daydreaming, watching the dust skip up into the light.

Josephine entered the room, distracted by the agenda for their meeting, unaware of how the light shimmered on her satin sleeves. When she looked up and spotted her elven leader lost in thought, she smiled. Just her luck, to steal her ear for a moment.

"You are aware of this, I imagine, yet I will bring it to your attention, nevertheless," she paused and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. The elf broke out of her reverie. "There are many members of our Inquisition: soldiers and farmers, nobles and commoners, craftsmen and merchants. And there are many ways in which the Inquisition reaches out to serve. But it does not fall on you alone to bear the weight of this service."

The Inquisitor returned her calm gaze, patiently waiting for her to continue. The War Table lay between them, marked with dozens of needs for those scattered across Thedas. The winter light poured over Josephine as she stepped forward. Her gown shimmered, as did the sparkle in her eyes, as did the faith she had in her leader. With the threat from Corypheus gone, countless efforts to rebuild and reshape the world lay before them. Avalon could tell Josephine's thoughts on this matter had been brewing for some time; and, now, as they awaited the other advisers, the savvy Antivan took advantage of her captive audience.

The elf stayed against the cool wall, face obscured, not because of any shadows, but because the light on other side of her shone so bright.

"These are formative days," Josephine pleaded. "Any agent worth half his salt can assist with missions in the field, but only you can guide the Inquisition from Skyhold. Only you can command the respect of the leaders of our world. You are the only one who can take the reins and steer our Inquisition to a better future. I implore you, your Worship. Leave the groundwork to others and honor us with your leadership from above."

Josephine was interrupted, as Cullen and Leliana strode into the room. With a chuckle, Cullen sneered, "Trying to rope our humble leader into yet another soirée? Which diplomat's boots are we trying to lick this time?"

She blushed. The Inquisitor stifled a chuckle. Leliana stepped in, to her defense, "Never mind our commander, Josie. He may be fearless on the battlefield, but threaten him with a dress uniform and a waltz, and he'll cower in the corner."

"Come now," Avalon interjected. "Josephine was making a valid point," she gave her diplomat a knowing look. "and it's one I'm sure she's been rehearsing for some time" she grinned at the ambassador, who'd just regained her composure, only to blush again.

"But my place is not to sit on a throne and dictate from afar. The thing that gave the Inquisition strength, even from its beginning, was not me or my prowess, but the faith that the people of the Inquisition placed in me."

She placed her hands against the wall as she pushed off, stepping towards the advisers. The momentary cool of the stone felt good on her palms. She contemplated kicking off her boots and running her toes along the grooves of the cold floor.

"Without the hearts of ordinary, everyday people, I would be nothing," she spread her hands wide, indicating the entirety of the war table before her, the map of the nations of Fereldan and Orlais. The light caught up behind her, glowing, silhouetting her body. "Nothing we have accomplished, not a single damn thing, would have been possible without the hearts of these people. We call them 'commoners,' but, in my eyes, they are anything but common. They are extraordinary. And it is my time to return their faith with a life of service.'

"How else can we expect the people who followed the Inquisition to lay down their lives for the Greater Good, unless the leader of the Inquisition does so, on a daily basis?" she took a deep breath, let her arms fall to her sides, and looked at each of her advisers in turn. "No. It is my purpose, now, to walk with the peoples of Thedas, to share their lives with them, to break bread with them, to show them: I am one of them."

Leliana bowed her head, "And to inspire them to realize their own hidden potential." The spymaster smiled.

"Yes," the Inquisitor replied. "I want the people to have faith in a better future, and that starts with each individual heart, each individual person being the best they can be."

Cullen leaned back, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. "An admirable goal, even if it is a terribly idealistic one; however," he sighed, "who are we to deny the Herald of Andraste? You are the only one who could have led us out of the mire." His shoulders loosened, and a grin escaped him, "And, while you are running around the world putting out fires and building bridges, you will still have the full weight of the Inquisition's forces at your beck and call."

"The question still remains," interjected Josephine, "Who will deal with the dignitaries and nobles who are waiting on our doorstep?"

"You will," Avalon's tone was flat and decisive. "You will be my mouthpiece. And if that is not good enough for some Fancy Pants Noble, full of his own self-importance, then he can be on his way." With a flash of anger, Avalon narrowed her eyes, "I am not a piece of meat, to be quartered and sold to the highest bidder." She sighed, looked at her hands. All she wanted to do was serve, to lose herself in service.

"As you wish, your Worship," the ambassador said, and slightly bowed her head, in deference. She feared Josephine's gaze would be bitter, but when she looked up at her, there was nothing but kindness in her eyes.

The meeting flowed easily. Tips from the Red Jennies about a subversive noble. Reports about red lyrium spotted in the wild. Dorian's request to delve deeper into the research on time travel. A letter from Rhys and Evangeline, offering aid and sending greetings to Cole. Requests for help, rebuilding farmhouses and patching roads devastated by the fighting.

After their meeting, Cullen pulled Avalon aside, waiting to speak until Josephine and Leliana filed out of the room. By now, it was early evening. The light was less clear. The sky had a warm glow, and it filtered into the large stone room like a drop of wine slowly diluting into a glass of water.

"I'm not sure I ever properly thanked you," his gaze shifted from the floor, up into her face. "When I was going through the worst of my lyrium withdrawal, you stood by me. You supported me. You inspired me to push on. If it were not for you, I would not be the man I am today."

She rarely saw the commander like this. He sighed, like there was a deep weight he was trying to lift off his heart. "Of course," she replied.

He absentmindedly placed his hand on her arm. His palm was clammy against her warm skin. "You make the world a better place. You make the impossible become possible." He chuckled, "I would have never dreamed that I could work alongside mages, much less believe in a world where they would be trusted to be free with their powers; but you inspire so much…goodness."

At this he locked eyes with her. His gaze was intense.

"I…" she was not used to receiving such an earnest display of affection. "I'm just one person. I don't know…" She was stumbling over her words. She backed away, without realizing it.

"I know," he smiled. He paused. "Look, it may not be my place. And, forgive me if I am out of line. But it is not like you to lose your composure. And snapping at Josephine earlier…" when she met his eyes, she realized his gaze had never wavered. "I worry about you."

The sun had sunk low enough that it was now pouring directly through the open window, casting a warm glow on Cullen's golden hair. He stepped forward, his voice earnest and deep. "I've never asked you about what happened between you and Solas. It never felt like my place. I remember the day you walked into this room, shocking us with the removal of your Dalish tattoo. You claimed you were 'now free from an ancient symbol of slavery,' but, to me, it always seemed that you'd simply traded one burden for another. The grief that shackled you that day, it haunts you even now."

Of course. The moment Solas removed her tattoo was the same moment he'd broken off their…whatever it was…their love affair? Their relationship?

Avalon had not realized she had been so transparent. Her heart suddenly felt exposed. "By the Dread Wolf!" she covered her mouth with her hand, "Does everyone see me this way? Am I moping around Skyhold like a sad puppy?"

"Oh, heavens, no!" Cullen laughed. "Quite the opposite, in fact. You are the Paragon of Humility and Grace, the Selfless Protector Who Lays Down Her Life For All."

"Are you mocking me? You're mocking me, aren't you?!"

"A little," he grinned, "perhaps." Then he reached out to hold her, at arm's length, his strong hands cupping her upper arms. He leaned over to gaze into her bright elven eyes. "You do not have to confide in me. But…if you need a friend…let me be there for you, the way you were there for me. I know you are trying to be everything for everyone…but when will you allow yourself to just be…yourself?"

Avalon considered his words. For so long, she had let other's needs and expectations define everything about her. For the faithful, she was The Herald of Andraste; for those displaced by Corypheus's destruction, she was The Inquisitor; to the Dalish elves who lived on the fringes of civilization, and the mages who craved autonomy, she was the gleaming example of how one outcast could become an unexpected hero and exemplify the best of what humanity has to offer.

But, when was the last time she'd had a spot of fun?

Pranks with Sera.

Wicked Grace at the tavern.

Then she remembered the chess match she'd played with Cullen, back in the early days of Skyhold. She'd let him win, considering he needed the boost more than she needed the boast. That's just what she did. She laid down her life for the people she loved.

_Cullen had leaned back from the gameboard. "This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition—or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction." She always felt comfortable around him, even back then, even if he was a Templar and she was an apostate._

_"We should spend more time together." She spoke the words naturally, without considering their implications._

_He frowned, "I may be mistaken, but, aren't you with Solas?"_

_"Yes, of course," she blushed, "But that doesn't mean we can't be friends."_

_"Yes," Cullen considered it, and slyly grinned. "Just friends, then."_

Avalon had always thought that settled the matter. They were friends. Good friends. They had fought together for a common cause. They respected each other. Cared for each other. Supported each other.

But, now, here she stood. The commander gazed intently into her eyes, his hands held her so intimately. He smelled like firewood and smoke. Were they friends? Or had he settled on friendship, while wanting more? Her skin flushed. She grew hot at the thought of his embrace.

Solas never held her. He was always walking away from her. Now he was gone, without a trace, and, before her stood one of the best men she knew, opening up his heart and asking to bear witness to the yearnings of her soul.

Her defenses dropped. She let out a sigh, and leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. His armor was hard and cold against her cheek, but smooth, nonetheless. "How am I supposed to just…be me?"

Cullen drew her near, rubbed her back, once, a palm down her spine and up again. He wished he could feel her against him. Instead, he nuzzled his nose into her hair. "I don't know," he uttered the words, his lips against her crown, then pulled away from her, and cupped her face in his palms. "But I do know this: you do not have to be alone."

Avalon placed her hands on his, guiding them away from her face. She carefully considered her words. She felt ashamed. "My heart still belongs to Solas." His name felt like a knife in her heart. She paused to catch her breath, then looked up into the commander's compassionate eyes, "I cannot…"

He interrupted her, "You have been selfless for the people, for our cause," he shifted his voice to a whisper, "You've even been selfless for me." His cadence returned, "I ask nothing from you. Only, let me support you. Let me stand beside you, the way you once stood beside me. Let me be your friend."

"Just my friend?"

He grinned, raising an eyebrow, "You underestimate how good of a friend I can be."

Avalon punched his arm, and laughed, mocking him. But, when the laughter died down, she slipped her hand into his, and squeezed it, once, ever so slightly.

"Thank you, Cullen," she said. "It is good to know I am not alone."

Then she turned and left the room, disappearing into shadow, her back to the commander, as he stood there, sad and kind and caught up in the sunlight.


	5. Brambles

The days were getting shorter. The Inquisitor and her companions set out over silent roads, making their way to Redcliffe. They woke in shadows obscured by veils of mist. As they approached Lake Calenhad, the thick morning air clung above the waters and swelled into a fog. It was rarely cold enough to snow here; instead, the dew would freeze over the ground, like an echo of winter. There was a white sheen on each solitary leaf; an icy crystal encased each tiny blade of grass.

They pushed on, the crisp landscape crunching underfoot. Blackberry brambles twisted by the road, occasionally with unpicked fruit, now hard and shriveled. Each thorny vine was coated in a crisp frost; each bush was tangled up in fog, like it was crawling out of a dream. Gradually, the world thawed as dawn pierced the sky. Morning melted into afternoon, and the frozen ground melted into a shallow frosty mud.

Avalon was never cold. She had no memory of being cold, even as a young elf running through the woods, scavenging, digging for roots, hoping for a meal in her traps. There were days the hunger was wild enough, she would have eaten these hard blackberries, thanking Mythall for the provision.

She sighed. She had not thought of these things in ages. As she tried to hang onto the memories, they slipped away, like water running through her fingers. She paused, broke off a vine from the bramble, one with a cluster of shriveled berries, and wound it into a wreath before placing it in her sack. She might not be able to remember, but she did not want to forget.

By the time they reached the tavern at Redcliffe, dusk had long since tucked itself behind the corners of the sky. The group was tired from travel, and glad to be in a warm place, anxious for a warm meal in their bellies.

The tavern smelled like tobacco and warm biscuits and sea salt and ale. And it was packed. The village had rallied to prepare for winter. Now that the storehouses were filled for the coming months, the tavern had become a gathering place. Rangers planned for the next hunt. Merchants rested after a day of peddling wares. Friends came together to regale each other with tales, reliving the events of recent months, turning history into legend.

It's too bad Varric wasn't here.

Or, perhaps, it was lucky the dwarf had other engagements.

It seemed, for the moment, in this crowded room, Avalon had managed to escape recognition. This happened more often than she expected, ever since she gave up her vallas'lin. While it was rumored that her recognizable tattoo had vanished, many did not believe the tale.

Varric was one of her more recognizable companions. If he'd been here, spinning his stories, people would have searched for her immediately. Her presence would have ignited the room, like electricity, as they realized a hero was in their midst.

To escape recognition, she traveled in nondescript clothing, intentionally leaving her finery at Skyhold in favor of a peasant's wool dress and a simple wool cape. When the advisers had learned of her habit of adventuring without the protection of her rich magical robes, they challenged her. They said it was foolish. She insisted she had nothing to fear. They said it was better to be safe than sorry. She said safety was overrated.

How could she make them understand? Even if she was the Inquisitor, dressing like the Inquisitor changed everyone around her. She was too much of a symbol. She meant too much to too many people.

It's not that she wanted to hide, exactly. She wanted to be able to touch people, to be with them at their truest, to witness their hurt and share in their joy. She craved authenticity. She liked this simple dress, practical, embroidered with simple red roses, trailing up the bodice. She preferred dressing like the people. She wanted to be seen as one of them. Perhaps, too much, she craved belonging.

She placed her hand over her heart. Under the roses on her dress, she felt the amulet as she pressed it against her skin.

_Accepting that she would not outfit herself with acceptable vestments, Cullen had come to her the night before this latest excursion, amulet in hand. He had already laid aside his duties for the night, and in place of armor, he wore a fresh tunic. The smell of soap clung to him as he strode into her chambers. "If you insist on tempting fate, without the proper equipment, you must at least wear this ward." He extended the amulet to her, "I insist."_

_Avalon had nodded, accepting the gesture. "Thank you." An amulet, she could do. She could hide it under her clothes. She took it from him, held the chain behind her neck, fumbling with the latch._

_"Allow me," he chuckled. Her hair was longer now; she'd let it go these past few months, and it had grown in long brown waves, down her back, like a doe running in the wind. He swept it to the side. His hands were bare. The rough callouses on his palm scratched her smooth neck. In a moment, the clasp was in place. She'd be more safe. He felt more secure._

"Are you even listening to a word I've said?" Dorian snapped her out of her reverie. There was an bit of foam on his mustache.

He was on his forth pint of ale, caught up in his frustrations about his research, and his words were slurring together. "The rifts in this area behaved uniquely, a side effect of Alexius tampering with time and space. I suspect, if we take samples from the environment near the locations of the rifts, we could try to analyze their components. I can determine the effect that the rifts had on the ground, the plants, the trees. Perhaps we can uncover some elusive element in the process?"

Sera slammed her mug down on the table, "Daft is what this is! Full on daft!"

"What?"

"Can't nobody travel in time. That's just…messed up."

Dorian waggled a finger at her "You might want to check your memory on the matter. I traveled to the future. And. You. Were. There."

"Pissbuckets." She slapped his finger out of her face. "I wasn't there. I was here. I never went anywhere."

Dorian threw up his hand, and looked around the table for support, "Will someone reason with this nonsense?" Blackwall chuckled into his mug. Cole had disappeared, as he was known to do.

The tavern bard sang a slow ballad, plucking at her lute. Candlelight flickered from the tables, around friends sharing pints, debating the seasons, and planning for spring. It was wonderfully ordinary, the luxury of everyday worries. And Lavellan had blended into the setting. She sighed. Things were finally feeling normal.

She turned to Sera, "The question isn't IF time travel is possible. The question is: if you COULD time travel, where would you go? When would you go?"

The archer leaned back in her chair. "Oh that's easy. I'd go back to the best fuck of my life, and live it again. Over and over again."

Blackwall's mouthful of ale spurted out over the table. "You what?"

Dorian shimmered, dry underneath the glow of his barrier; the spell had triggered reflexively. He crossed his arms, "With the power of time travel, and the entirety of history and the world at your disposal, you'd choose…sex?!"

"You bet your knickers, I would." Sera wiped the ale off her face with the back of her hand, unphased.

Blackwall regained his composure and roared, "You can't be serious."

"I AM serious!"

"If you could go back and change things...if you could change anything...you could make the world a better place..." a dark look lay behind the warrior's eyes. "You could save so many lives!"

"No I couldn't." Sera leaned towards him. "Let's say this time travel thingy was possible, and I wanted to fix the world and blah blah blah. Where would I start? Would I stop Coryphyshit from blowing things up and tearing the world apart?"

"That would be a good place to start."

"No it wouldn't, see?! Because that was a huge thing. That was a Big Huge Thing that happened. And we're on the other side of it now. We moved on from it. We can't go screwing with the past. Screw with the past, and you know what happens? We disappear. That's what."

"As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point," Dorian sighed, then arched his eyebrow, "But, still…you'd choose a night of frolicking."

"Well yeah," Sera sat back, and crossed her arms, "A few days later, she was murdered by some asshat, trying to settle a stupid score. Wrong place, wrong time, and all that. I can't change it. But it would be nice to feel her happy again."

"Well that dampens the mood," Blackwall stood, rough wood from his chair dragging across the tavern floor. "I'm sorry about your friend, Sera."

"Aw pissbuckets, that was ages ago," she glared at Avalon, "And you're quiet as a mouse! You ask me some awful question, and now everyone's looking at me 'Oh poor Sera lost her sexy lover.'"

She grinned. "But, poor Sera, you DID lose your sexy lover. And now you have sexy us."

Blackwall puffed out his chest, "And I AM mighty sexy."

At that, everyone burst out laughing. Then, one by one, the companions mumbled about too much ale, and needing rest, and retiring to their beds. The din of chatter swelled and faded.

Avalon lingered in the tavern, reluctant to settle in for the night, reluctant to fall asleep. She pulled Cullen's amulet out from hiding and rubbed her thumb along the smooth metalworking, golden rays of the bursting sun, a symbol of faith and hope.  _We know how to protect bodies_ , she thought,  _but no one knows how to protect the heart._  And, yet, thinking again about that last night in Skyhold, her memories of Cullen opened like a pair of wings, sparking like hot fire.

_Time was unfolding slowly in her memory, as she savored each detail._

_The sky was overcast and black. She sat in her chambers, at her desk, a few papers haphazardly strewn about. Red wax dripped down the side of a candle. He stood behind her, brushing her hair to the side. He smelled crisp...she imagined this is was moonlight should smell like. His hand against her neck. The chain clasped._

_He did not move._

_She did not turn._

_He leaned forward. Stubble accidentally brushed against her ear, igniting her senses; the reverberations tingling down her bare neck, down her spine, curling up at her toes and leaving her like a bundle of static._

_Then he spoke, "Please, my Grace, be careful."_

_She sat, lost in her skin._

_The commander had finished what he came for. Satisfied, he made to leave._

_Her body called out to him, and she heard the words leave her mouth: "You could stay." Shit. Why did she say that? She stood and shrugged. "I mean...I've been having trouble sleeping. We could...talk. Keep each other company." Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment._

_He turned, and smiled, and his eyes wrinkling up, "I'd like that."_

_Avalon's dress was simple. Yes. But she made it seem perfect. It hung on her in all the right places. In these evening hours, she had let herself unwind, and she was disheveled enough to be wildly endearing. He couldn't meet her gaze; he grinned as he cast his eyes on the floor, but he held her in his mind. There was a smudge of ink on her lip. Her hair was loose and thick. She stood there, bare feet on the stone floor, like something out of a dream._

_They sat together, chatting into the night, sharing memories, laughing. It was good to see him let down his guard. She loved seeing him like this, at ease, unburdened by the fate of the world. He would never have allowed himself this sort of reprieve before their victory with Corypheus. She pulled her feet up onto the sofa and sat on her crossed legs, her back against the armrest. He relaxed across from her, one arm along the back of the sofa, his crisp white tunic stretched comfortably across his strong frame, his feet kicked up on a crate, boots clean and freshly polished._

_And it struck her: he had hoped to be here tonight. This visit was intentional._

_Cullen turned to her, "So, you've been having trouble sleeping?"_

_She confided in him, told him about her dream. Her nightmare. About drowning every night in her sleep, only to awaken, scared and unnerved._ _"I just feel so...overwhelmed. Like a bird tossed about by the wind and there is nothing to tie me down. Or like I'm sinking through violent waters, unable to escape being pulled apart." She searched his eyes, hoping for understanding._

_And she found it._

_He shared of his own struggles with nightmares, brought on by his life as a Templar, and worsened by his lyrium withdrawal. "Sometimes, there is just nothing you can do. The dreams take on a life of their own."_

_In that moment,_   _Avalon realized that she did not want him to leave. She did not know what she wanted, but she thought, maybe...just maybe...she was ready to not be alone._

_They stayed up all night, on opposite ends of the couch, chatting until morning._

That was it. But it was enough. And the memory filled her with peace.

It was late. The tavern was emptier now. The bard played another song, slow and mournful. She thought about the dream that waited for her, the dream of drowning in dark waters. But, somehow, she realized, she didn't fear it as much anymore.

Then she took the bramble wreath out of her bag, and laid it on the table. Those shriveled blackberries, hard and dry.

She closed her eyes to visualize herself picking them.

_Bare feet. Tiny bare feet. Running through the frozen forest. A knot in her belly. Raw fingers, grasping at the vines. Sucking on the berries, hoping for some semblance of taste. Nothing. Nothing but blood from the thorns._

_Nightfall. Silent. Slipping from shadow to shadow. Dark shapes in the trees above. Dark shapes on the ground below. The glow of tents. Everyone asleep. And, there! A parcel laid out, wrapped in a red string! ..._

_Running through the forest. Faster. Faster. Blood pounding in her ears._

_Breathless. Catching her breath. The parcel in her lap. She pulled on the red string, and it fell open. Cured meats. Smoked fish. Dried fruit. Flatbread. Nuts. Provisions to last her for weeks, if she was careful. If she was careful. If she was…_

_The darkness melted away._

_Warmer. Bright green grass. Cool earth underfoot, warm breeze on her face. Hyacinth and jonquils blooming by the creek. Barefoot, but not running._

_The knot in her belly gone._

_Checking on a trap. Success! A rabbit! Pressing her hand against its soft chest. Thanking it for its life and breaking its neck. Tying it to her back, with the long red string._

_Walking in the creek. Cool water over her toes. Smooth stones. Tide splashing against her thighs. The current like a wet road. Chirping overhead. Further in. Further in. Water up to her waist. Deeper. And deeper. Pushing her feet off the streambed. …_

_Belly up. Floating. Branches stretched over head. Canaries dancing in the trees. Yellow canaries. Lush canopy of leaves. Warmth and spring. And then: columns white as bones._

_An ancient ruin, hidden in the forest. Vines crawling over old white walls, vine growing out of old white windows._

_Dripping. Water pooling at her feet. Standing in an old white room, ceiling open to the sky. Birds roosting in the eaves. Stepping forward._

_Ground crumbles. Falling. Falling. Falling. …_

_Falling through darkness…_

_Darkness turning into water…_

_Water rushing over her. Flailing her arms, struggling to breathe. Tide pushing her under, spinning her around. Twisting under the waves._

_Deeper and deeper, away from the surface. Too far away from the light, too far away from the air. Letting out her last breath, an explosion of bubbles scurrying toward the surface. Slipping into unconsciousness as water filled her lungs._

She jolted awake.

She was still in the tavern. In Redcliffe.

She felt her forehead, and found it bleeding. She's fallen asleep with her head pressed into the thorns.

The room was empty now, except for a couple farmers in the corner, hunched over a secret. The bard had finished playing, and was eating a meal at the bar. Her lute rested against her leg. The barkeep, a weathered lady named Bella, came over to the table, a towel over her shoulder. "You might want to pick yourself up and get yourself into a bed." She chuckled. "I'll be needing that table for all my many patrons."

"Right," the Inquisitor stated, lost in thought, trying to hold onto the details of her dream. What had just happened? She picked up her things, and ambled, confused, up the stairs that separated the tavern from the rooms of the inn.

Bella rolled her eyes, "Ya can't win 'em all." Then cleared the mugs off the table, and finished up the rest of the washing.

Perched on the roof, on top of the tavern, Cole had been following it all.

* * *

_Another night. Another dream. Another attempt to break through the Fade. Solas wandered the same barren landscape of the Korcari Wilds, treading the same paths time and again, yet leaving no trace. Nothing he did seemed to have an effect on his surroundings. It was maddening._

_Scorched cedars towered over dark swamps. Brittle trunks jut out of dank waters. Driftwood lay everywhere._

_He kicked the dirt, and sat on a fallen log, burying his face in his hands. What more could he do? Would he ever be able to reach his elven love, or would he fade gradually away, trapped in Mythall's mind, inside his body._

_With a sigh, he looked out over the dead waters._

_His gaze wandered to a grove of cedars, growing near the shore. At their base, tangled and twisted, grew a bush. He did not recall it being there before. He walked over, and examined the scene._

_Shriveled blackberries hung thick with brambles. The vines were old, but they were not dead. He broke one off into his hand, and there was life, green and true, at its center. He followed the vine, wondering about its origin, until he saw something extraordinary. It was growing straight out of the water._

_The water._

_He stood above the shore, searching for his reflection. The waters gave him nothing. They were blank, no sign of any light from this dream. He dropped in a pebble. It splashed and sent ripples out, but the waters remained dull and clouded._

_Why hadn't he considered the waters before? Indeed, nothing is what it seems in the Fade._

_Solas stood next to the bramble. "I come for you, Ma Vhenan." Then he stepped forward and the waters swallowed him whole._


	6. The White Wolf

Avalon shut the door and leaned against it. Moonlight poured through the bare window, illuminating the simple room before her. A rough woven rug. A chair. A small table pressed up under the window, with a speckled wash basin and pitcher. It was ceramic, with a dull glaze, possibly a light blue. Maybe it was white. It was hard to tell in the half-light.

She latched the door. The floorboards creaked as she walked across the room, past scattered belongings. In one bed, Sera lay on her belly, snoring softly, a blanket bunched up under her legs. One of her arms was sprawled over the side of the bed, and her hand lay resting on the floor. She did not stir.

Sitting on her own side of the room, Avalon was numb, her actions automatic. She unlaced her boots and set them at the foot of the bed. She removed her socks and lay them out to air. Then she stood, unlaced the bodice of her dress, pulled it over her head, and draped it over the chair. She stood in her chemise and shimmied out of her petticoat, folded it, and placed it beside her dress.

On the wall next to the door hung a looking glass, set into a carved wooden frame. Beside it stood another small table, with a simple oil lamp. Avalon did not light the lamp, but she walked over to the mirror, soles bare against the smooth wood floor, and gazed at her profile, silhouetted by moonlight. Her hair was tightly braided and wrapped around her head. She took it down, unwound the plaits, and ran her fingers through the strands, while she untangled her thoughts from the evening.

The dream she had just awoken from, it was new to her, but also achingly familiar. How could that be possible? She replayed the scenes over in her mind. Then she stopped fiddling with her hair. She let her fingers rest on the Lifeward, the amulet from Cullen. To her, it meant more than just armor. She felt like she was carrying a piece of the commander, that his care for her extended even here. She sighed and smiled, then wound her hair into a long loose braid. She did not feel unsafe. She was ready to rest.

She crawled between cool, crisp sheets, and drifted fast asleep.

* * *

_She lay in a grove, in the forest, in the middle of a cluster of stumps. As she stood, a lute started to play, a slow and ethereal tune. The tops of the trunks opened up like little boxes, and from them emerged figures made out of twigs and leaves, dancing stiffly, in rhythm with the music. Their bodies were the bare torsos of women, carved from mahogany, with hard supple breasts and long chiseled bellies; the branches of their arms stretched high above them, towards the starlit sky, and, at the end of each wooden arm, there were real, human hands, with rough bark for nails. They twisted, beautifully, dancing in the moonlight, rooted to each stump, leaning and stretching with each turn of the music. Their hair, made of moss and vines, swished and swayed._

_Their faces were carved, expressive and unmoving, like a collection of wooden masks._

_Avalon was entranced. The music and the grove had cast a spell on her. She was fully aware of her surroundings, but she did not fight them. She was lulled into simple acceptance of the forest's will._

_The mahogany dancers lifted the shift off her head, replacing it with a gown made of soft pelts. They pulled leathers onto her legs. They crushed berry juice onto her lips and smudged soot into the sockets of her eyes. They tangled their pink fingers into her smooth hair, and twisted it until it knotted up into thick dreadlocks. Then each of the dryads cried a single tear, which was, in fact, a wooden bead, and they wove their smooth sadness into her hair, running along her hairline and back behind her ears, like a subtle crown._

_Then the dancers gracefully wound themselves back into their stumps, never breaking their synchronized rhythm. The tops folded back up and sealed, ring upon ring, over each wooden body. The music stopped. Avalon broke out of her trance._

_The first thing she felt was the hunger. She thought it might consume her. She doubled over, pressing her hands into her belly, hoping the pressure might alleviate the pain. It helped, a little. The hunger muted to a dull ache._

_There was a pack on the ground beside her. She opened it, but all she found was a rough blade, a bedroll, and a cloth. When she spread the cloth across her lap, there was a stale crust inside. Desperate for food, she reached for it, but it turned into a fuzzy caterpillar. Startled, she withdrew her hand, and it inched off into the dust._

_She stuffed the things into her pack and strode out into the night, looking for her traps. The soil was hard and icy and it bit at her bare toes. Cold little stones opened wide mouths full of tiny pebble teeth, chomping and clattering in her wake. She shrugged off their taunts. There was ground to cover._

_The landscape grew dense with vegetation as she pushed farther into the forest. She could swear she saw the vines growing up and moving alongside her, but she didn't have time to think about that. The traps. She must check the traps. The need pounded inside her, like a wild drum. She wasn't sure how much strength she had to press on._

_Ominous figures, with the bodies of men and the heads of animals, remained just out of sight, stalking her, silently, through the night. Bear men. Stag men. Panther men. They hunted her, following the trail of her dreams, searching for a snapped twig of fear or a footprint of doubt, anything to leverage her attention and tempt her with their schemes. She paid them no heed._

_And then she saw the blackberry bush, with its shriveled berries clustered amongst the brambles. As she approached it, the vines that had been growing alongside her swelled up, urging her onward, closer to the thorny bush. She reached out to pluck the fruit and pop it into her mouth, but, instead, she pricked herself. A drop of blood beaded up on her finger. Her vision started spinning. As she fainted, the vines reached up to catch her, their thick green leaves laying out beneath her, lifting her feet off the forest floor. Then the blackberry bush opened up, like a wide mouth unhinging its jaw, and the bed of vines ushered her on a wave of leaves. The brambles snapped shut, engulfing her in shadow._

* * *

_Solas stood in the Fade of Mythall's dream. She was wrapped up in a slight of mind, a reverie of her days as a Witch of the Wilds, safe behind closed doors, closeted inside the home she used to share with her daughters. The Fade was Solas' realm. Mythall may have possessed his body and taken away his days, but, at night, when she was weak and needed rest, he summoned his best trickery and wrapped her up in distractions, while he searched for a way to break out of his cage._

_And, now, he had found an opening._

_He stood next to the bramble that disappeared into bleak waters. "I come for you, Ma Vhenan." Then he stepped forward, and the waters swallowed him whole._

_For a fraction of a second, time stood still, then the world melted around him and sped past, faster than the wind, blurring streaks of color and light along his peripheral vision. Memories, bits of dreams, gasps of hope and fear, flying past him, out in the wild Fade. But, straight ahead, he kept sinking into this endless pond, as he plummeted further and further along, twisted and jolted about, until he finally emerged on the other side of the watery path, dry as a bone. When his foot hit the frosty earth, he realized: the entire experience had transpired over the course of one step._

_He took in a breath, filled his lungs with crisp air, and arched his face upward, to take in the clear night sky._

_There was a lute playing in the distance. He followed the tune until he found her, in a grove, with spirits weaving back and forth, performing a rite that he had never before witnessed. He watched, in awe, as the woman who claimed his heart was transformed._

_When she doubled over in pain, he rushed to her, but when he placed his hand on her back, he faded right through her. He spoke, but his words fell on deaf ears. He knelt down and stared into her eyes, but caught no recognition. He was a ghost to her. He was less than a shadow._

_So be it._

_He followed her through the forest, and the Fade grew wild and rich in her wake. Spirits were drawn to her. Some were desperate to break into the physical world; others were content to follow her magnetic presence. When she fainted, he watched her fall into the arms of her dream; and, when she was buried in the heart of the blackberry bush, he dove in after her, slipping into the shadows before the thorns of the brambles clamped shut, like a door with a thousand tiny locks but no key. She was the key. She might be the key for everything._

* * *

_When Avalon came to, she found herself in a new stretch of forest. It was still cold. She was still hungry. Above her hung the same starlit sky. And then she recognized where she was: before her lay the tents of her clan, clustered in a clearing. A few of the tents flickered, fires stoking warm within. Others were lost in shadow, their inhabitants fast asleep._

_Above one tent, she saw the image of a hunter stalking his prey. Above another, she saw the image of a woman kneading dough, then a man slipped his hands around her waist, drawing her away and into his embrace. "These are the dreams of those sleeping within," she whispered to herself._

_Then she saw the vision of a dream that made her ache. Her own mother, hands caught up in the washing, stared out into the forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of her girl. And, then, little Avalon, no more than a child, ran through the leaves, hair ratted and woven with flowers, rushing into camp. Her mother, abandoning the wet clothes, raced to greet her, wrapping her hands around her child, wet palms smudging her daughter's dirty back._

_The Inquisitor looked away, confused. When she looked back towards her mother's tent, the dream was gone, but there, pushed up against the washbasin, she spied a package, wrapped up with a red string. She slipped from shadow to shadow, drawing nearer and nearer. This close to the tent, she could hear the soft rumbles of snores within. She could smell the lingering scent of venison. She felt the fear of staying too long, so she grabbed the parcel and ran._

_She bolted into the forest, running faster and faster, her heartbeat pounding in her ears._

_The trees shuffled, rolling over their roots, creating a tunnel through the woods, then closing up behind her, covering her path._

_A star fell out of the sky, bursting into a million tiny tears, and showering her with glowing rain, but Avalon did not cry. She clutched the parcel to her chest and pressed on, further and further into the forest, leaving her clan behind._

_Before her lay The Black City, caught up in the sky. She raced towards it, impervious to the cold, impervious to the stitch in her side. It stretched on before her, untouchable and unreachable._

* * *

_Solas followed her through the blackberry tunnel, to the tents of her clan, racing through the forest, until she collapsed, exhausted and frightened._

_The forest gathered around her, bare trunks black against the dark night sky. The stars slowly faded out as clouds rolled in. Fog pulled out of the air at every turn, like tears swelling out of a deep sadness but unprepared to fall. The fog crept along above the dry ground; for a moment it pulsed with pale bursts of light from the lunar glow, until the moon, too, was cloaked away in the sky._

_As the world was shrouded around her, Solas realized that he, too, had found the ability to shroud himself._

_He hunched over, and a bright white fur grew up over his whole body. His hands and feet transformed into paws. His mouth grew long and filled with jagged white teeth. This is how he was able to step into her dream: he took on the form of a wolf._

_He slinked closer, the fading light shimmering on his ethereal coat. She did not move._

_As he approached, she lay there, still and unmoving. He would have thought she was frozen, if it were not for her steadily rising and falling breath. He would have though she was asleep, if it were not for her wide, bright eyes. She was lost inside her thoughts, squelching a yearning too distressing to name._

_He lay down alongside her, kissed her, a rough pink tongue scratching across her mouth._

_How he had ached to kiss her again, to press his mouth against her delicate lips. How he had yearned to commune with her kind spirit, to lose himself in the labyrinth of her intricate feelings._

_Startled, she broke away, momentarily, from her woe. She laughed at him. "What are you doing here, fellah?" She extended her hand, palm up. He sniffed it, and kissed her palm. It sparked and then glowed bright and green, the presence of the anchor breaking through the dream._

_"Hmm. That's odd." She looked at her hand. "It never lights up. You must be a special pup." She scratched him behind the ears._

_The fog around them soaked up the spark and throbbed with a lingering glow, like a heartbeat of veil fire._

_Her attention turned to the parcel. She laid it on her lap and tugged the red string. It fell open. Cured meats. Smoked fish. Dried fruit. Flatbread. Nuts. Provisions to last her for weeks._

_Her first impulse was to devour the contents until she hungered no more, but she knew the folly that would bring: the stomach aches, the sweats, the vomiting. She took only a few bites of cured meat, sucking on them, savoring them as she pressed the salty venison between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. The white wolf sat next to her with somber eyes, ears flat and pointed away from his broad face. She ripped off a piece of venison and held it out to him. He took it, gently, out of her hand, and gnawed on it. He did not hunger for food, but he accepted this simple custom, hoping that each ordinary moment they shared would bind him to her._

_As they sat there together, the night melted away, and the bite of winter transformed into a lazy spring afternoon._

_Green grass lay soft and bright around them. Ferns exploded at the base of trees like bursts of joy. Little red squirrels raced through the branches, bickering. And the branches overhead were full of bright green leaves, aglow with the fire of the sun, bright and warm above the dreamer and her wolf._

_She lay down in the grass, stretched her arms high above her head and soaked in the warmth. Then her hands wandered to her chest and ran over the grooves of a pendant. As she played with it, the gold of it glittered in the sunlight. For a moment, she was at peace. It was resplendent._

_Solas considered the dream in which he found himself; he was familiar with the nature of Avalon's dreams, and he knew that her command of the Fade was unparalleled. Her dreams were crisper, more real than any other dreams he had ever experienced. He attributed this, of course, to the anchor she possessed. He theorized that it magnified her acuity of the Fade experience, heightening her sensitivity to the many layers and nuances of stimulus surrounding her._

_But there was something nagging at him about this particular dream._

_The details of the dreamscape were embellished by the Fade and its native spirits; this was evident in the anthropomorphized plants and trees, the way the sky responded to her moods, the ambient nature of time. However, the underlying moments in the dream felt solid, like cornerstones set firm in the foundation of time. At its core, this dream seemed to be a memory._

_What memory could this possibly be? And why had he found her here? If she was, in fact, returning to a part of her past, was there something about these specific moments that held significance?_

_Solas stopped to take her in: Avalon, sprawled out in the grass, daydreaming within her dream. Her tan skin glowing under the canopy of the trees. Her wild dreadlocked hair, woven with flowers and caught up with sticks and bits of leaves._

_Then he realized what she was doing: she was watching the shape of the air as it moved and swelled and patterned out on the breeze. The air remained itself, transparent and elusive; but somehow it had become charged, and the spirits within it were swelling and pushing themselves into awareness, performing like little children before the rapt attention of a parent._

_The Spirit of the Wind blew leaves off a balsa tree in a sudden gust, and the Spirit of the Air peeled in laughter as it struggled to catch each leaf that slipped, inevitably, through its dozens of intangible fingers._

_The air above her belly, warmed by her body, nestled into her, like a purring cub nuzzling its mother. Running up the grooves of her hands, little fish of air swam and nibbled at her fingertips. She parted her lips, and the shape of her breath formed like a tigerlily emerging from her mouth._

_She wasn't just dreaming through the Fade, she was igniting it with life. He had to catch his breath. He had never loved her more._

_The white wolf approached. She sat up, spirits tumbling off her and rolling into the grass. She smiled, "Time to get going! We have traps to check." She really had no idea the effect she had. Solas wondered if she'd even remember these sacred moments come morning._

_He walked beside her. From time to time, without looking, she would find him with her hand, run her fingers through his fur and pat his head. Each time she touched him, his senses ignited. He probably should have been thinking of a way to use the dream, to bend it to his will, to communicate with Avalon in a way that she could understand, but he did not. This was enough. Realizing he was content caught him off balance, but then he looked at Avalon walking alongside him, and he was grounded again._

_The first trap held a rabbit. Avalon prayed over it, thanking it for its life, then broke its neck and tied it to her back with the red string from the parcel. The rabbit's spirit crawled up and nestled on her shoulder. She turned her chin, until they were nose-to-nose, and gave it a little kiss. The rabbit's spirit glowed, warm and golden, and was caught up in the air like a happy little cloud floating away on the breeze._

_They walked further in the woods, down a ravine. Switchback paths scoured the hillside, no doubt carved out by fennecs or wild nugs scurrying down into the gully for a drink. The paths were not meant for feet as big as hers, and so the soil gave way, and she skipped forward, trying to catch purchase. A grove of nearby nut trees lifted their roots out of the soil and rolled out steps down to the water. "Thank you, kind sers," Avalon bowed to the arbors, then skipped down the steps with a childlike glee._

_Once she got to the creek, she splashed right in, thrusting herself out into the tide; belly up, floating, with branches stretched overhead. Her hair floated, weightless. The water tangled itself around her lithe body._

_Solas, the white wolf, ran along the shore, daffodils and hyacinth blooming in his wake. He followed her as she floated downstream, and the creek grew wider, into a river. Its surface glistened like oil. Little red fish swam in the water, or up in the air and dipped back in again. Yellow canaries danced in the trees, chattering and singing; and Solas' trained eye recognized, in their midst, an old friend. A Spirit of Joy spread her yellow wings and reveled in the thick happiness of the moment; she sang with the humble birds of her flock, like the warm reassurance of true contentment under a thousand absentminded smiles._

_In these moments, he felt real. But he feared that Avalon's memories were the only thing keeping him alive. He worried about what would happen if she started to forget._

_Then the shore became too heavy with vegetation for him to press forward. Avalon continued to float downstream, and he hesitated, briefly, nudging the shimmering water with his paw and cocking his head to try and ascertain where the waters might lead. Avalon was moving fast. He would have to struggle to catch up._

* * *

_As Avalon watched the birds and the branches overhead, she was startled to see a white stone arch reaching over the waters, like an ancient bone jutting out of the landscape. She rolled onto her belly and searched the shore. Set back from the waters, there was a ruin, overrun by the forest._

_She splashed over, crawled onto the sandy rocks and walked past wide white pillars, until she emerged into a large courtyard, open to the sky. Canaries roosted in the eaves, and their excitement was mounting. Vines sprawled over the archways and pillars, growing through windows and trailing down hallways. And everything she saw, from the marble floors, to the carved pillars and archways, and even the smooth stone walls, all of it was white. White, the color of death._

_She wondered if this was a tomb._

* * *

_When he finally caught up with her, she stood, dripping on the tile floor. This ruin seemed achingly familiar, and, yet, he could not place it._

_Avalon stepped forward, into the courtyard, and the ground crumbled beneath her. The Dread Wolf rushed to the edge of the hole as she tumbled into the abyss, and he was afraid._

* * *

_Avalon splashed into thick waters and sank under the waves. She flailed her arms, but it was no use. She pirouetted in a vicious dance, twisting in the tide as it pushed her under the current._

_All the lights were snuffed out. The darkness grew tangible, muffling all her senses. It was oppressive, like black mercury. She let out her last breath, an explosion of bubbles, then slipped into unconsciousness as water filled her lungs._

_The spirits of the waters were simple wisps; unaware of her desperation, they twisted themselves around her body as it sank endlessly into the deep, leaving them behind._

_She drifted, weightless, in the nothingness._

_A figure with a strong body, not unlike a man, reached out and drew her to himself. He held her there in the vacuum. They fit together, like oddly matching pieces from two different puzzles. His face was hidden from her, but as they clung to each other, bobbing in the darkness, his presence calmed her fears._

_Then she saw a warm glimmer, and she knew: the direction of the light was her way out._

_Her companion urged her toward the light, but she gravitated toward the darkness. They floated like that for a time, clinging to each other, orbiting in silent limbo. She ran her knuckle over the notches in his spine. She felt his elbow pressed into her ribs. Their legs and arms were a-tangle. Then, out of the void, a creature grabbed her ankle and jerked her down._

_The creature was coated in a sticky black ooze. It grasped her, with dozens of strong hands, quickly pulling her below._

_Avalon locked arms with her companion, but it was futile. He floated, inevitably, toward the light, and fate yanked her under. She was being swallowed up._

_The creature from the void clawed after her. Its reach oozed up her arms, wound itself into her hair. Midnight black hands grappled up her back. Fingers like tar clutched her throat, covering her face. She clenched her companion's fingertips, fear mixed with hope in her eyes, until even her eyes were covered by dark palms._

_And they were pulled apart._


	7. Cole's Secret

 

When they had arrived at the Redcliffe tavern, Cole perched up in the rafters. He sat, still as a spider. He followed the rising and falling songs of the sorrows of those below. Their hearts blared, boisterous and brash; and, under the cadence, the Inquisitor's heart beckoned out into the night. It bore a scar, cryptic, concealed. He hoped he could help, but, before he could, he needed to comprehend.

He crawled out onto the roof to excise himself from the deafening songs of too many clamoring hearts. The air was cold and wet. The clear moon was poised in the sky. As he scaled higher, looking for purchase, he ran his fingers along the ruts of the shingles and felt the tufts of moss that grew along each crack. After he reached the top, he swung his legs over the side of the roof, kicking his heels against the wall, listening to the reverberations absorb into the wooden siding. Now that he had found his focus, he honed in on Avalon Lavellan, on the wavelength of her unfathomable ache.

This sorrow was unique.

"Her song is muffled," he muttered to himself. "An old hurt, forgotten. The scab crumbled into dust, but a thin scar remains. Scratching. Searching. Twist it about in the shadows, just right, and you can see where it healed wrong. Pieced together. Pink flesh. What lies underneath?" He gasped, "Is there anything there at all?"

This song was not resonating with grief. It was empty, a measured and sustained silence. This song told no story. It held no melody. It embodied the vacant spaces where sorrow had once been. It slipped in and out of awareness. It waited, like a messenger standing in the doorway, shifting on his feet, with nothing to say.

The intact memories around those absences had hardened around the crevices of the missing moments. The missing memories were like old bones suspended in mud that had fossilized into stone. Only, the bones were now ghosts, and in their place, her mind was riddled with gaps.

It was extensive.

Avalon fell asleep at the tavern table. Flashes of things forgotten nipped at her while she dreamed.

The sorrow had been silent for so long, and now it was unfolding, unfurling. He needed to follow. The pain permeated her deepest being, but she didn't even know how to face it. She didn't have a name for it. She only felt it pressing against her the way the night presses against the face of the moon.

Whomever had taken her memories, he had taken too much, but he had also not taken enough. It was not a clean wipe. Examining the shape of her hurt, Cole was aghast at how carelessly her mind had been altered. It was as if an explosion had shattered a huge portion of her story, yet broken bits were never swept out, so they lingered, haunting her. It was cruel.

Cole knew how to take a memory, but he did not take memories like this.

He would take specific instances, tiny flights of fright. He removed them expertly, with surgical precision, so the mind around the hurt could mend and become whole again. This was nothing like that. These pathways were gouged out of Avalon's past. There were jagged rips and huge gaps.

It was a precarious situation. Now that she was returning to these empty passages, she put her whole mind at risk. If she was not careful, Cole feared she could fracture her entire memory.

She awoke at the table, startled, and retired to her room. He did not want to disrupt her concentration. This quest was important to her. He waited for her to fall asleep, then he appeared beside her bed.

He thought he could help.

She lay, asleep, one hand tucked up under her chin. Her breathing was heavy and deep. Her face was in shadow, and the moonlight fell over her hair.

Cole reached out with his spirit, following the shape of her hurt, catching the scent of the lost memories. Then he opened up his mind to the night, fumbling for a connection, any thin thread to tie another person's buried memories to the echoes of Avalon's lost pain.

And, then, like little answered prayers, pieces of her past trickled into his mind. The lost memories were like spools of glowing energy. He sat on her bed, running his fingers through her hair, weaving tidbits of her story back into her mind, as the memories intertwined with her dreams. As she lay sleeping, he was her conduit, and he was startled at how readily the pieces came to him.

He stayed all through the night, her secret caretaker, crouching over her, caught up in her being.

When she started to stir, Cole whispered into her ear, "You think they didn't want you. You think there was something wrong with you, and that is why they kept you apart. But, really, they are afraid. Of you. Of what you mean. When they see you, they Remember, and that makes them afraid."

There were still too many gaps. There was still so much pain within her. Cole stood. He clenched his hands together, resolute. The wide brim of his hat obscured his face in shadow. "I will help you."

Then he disappeared.

And she awoke.


	8. The Broken Wall

 

There were no traces of the rifts. Blackwall was not surprised. They were here to humor Dorian, after all. This chore was his idea. They had been scouring the area for days, while he analyzed rocks and trees and blades of grass.

They were at the last rift site, now, the one furthest from town. Blackwall surveyed the remote landscape. It was mostly farmland in these parts. Groves of trees clustered along the borders of pastures, and, across the way, a thicket was filled with chattering birds. The rock wall along the road lay in ruins; it had been bashed through months ago by a rage demon or some other creature from their battle to seal the rift. Why hadn't anyone mended it, yet?

The cold wasn't so bad. Blackwall huffed into the air, watching the fog of his breath dissipate into the afternoon light. But the wildlife was burrowed warmly underground.

His thoughts wandered.

The Iron Bull had gone with Varric and the Chargers on a "little trip" to Kirkwall which led to another "little trip" to Sundermount until they disappeared on a wild goose chase up the Wounded Coast. Back at Skyhold, each time Leliana received word of their progress, Dorian had grown more and more anxious. He did not discuss it, of course. Dorian did not talk about the Qunari he'd grow to love, or voice his worries about the complications of his mission. He kept himself busy, and, when that failed, he distracted himself with ale.

Ah, the drinking. Blackwall knew all too well the appeal of drowning out one's feelings. He'd often exile himself to the stables with a bottle of whiskey. He'd lay in the hay and gaze into the night sky, counting the stars until his vision blurred and his mind grew numb. Then night would swallow his inhibitions as his armor would fall off, and he would face his disappointments, one by one, until he passed out under the weight of them.

Ale is not a solution. It's the choice you make when you have no solution.

Perhaps that was why the Inquisitor had chosen now to pursue Dorian's research mission. The mission itself had never been urgent; but Dorian was a priority, and this was just the distraction that he needed. As much as Dorian clung to the Inquisitor, she returned his unconditional loyalty. It was an intimacy Blackwall had never known.

Dorian had been daydreaming about returning to Redcliff to comb the landscape ever since Alexius cast the two of them into the future. Blackwall shuttered to think of such things. Time travel. He preferred to keep his heels dug deep into the Here and Now.

The lack of banter was driving Sera batty, and the lack of activity was making her unbearable. She started to kick rocks down the road or hang from tree limbs mumbling, "BORING. This is so booooring!" Blackwall did all he could to keep his composure. He abstained from joking for the sake of Dorian's morale.

He needn't have worried.

Sera baited Dorian with jibes about the fruitlessness of his endeavor. You'd think that powdered puff of a man would have been flustered. But he was not. Quite the opposite, in fact: he took it as a challenge and responded to each of her sarcastic observations with calm ease, like a professor instructing a young pupil. Sera was duped; she thought that he wasn't picking up on her mockery, and it infuriated her. Dorian kept a straight face, feigning innocence; but, after she threw up her hands and stormed off into a field, he snickered, a smug grin stretched across his face, and admitted, to no one in particular, "Now THAT is how you fight fire with fire!"

Cole folded the exchange into his weird little mind. "Words are flames…formed, thoughtful by the tongue…also a flame…tongues of flame in each sound..." Blackwall tuned him out. When he went down one of these rabbit holes, it gave him a headache.

Sera wasn't wrong, though. This task was indeed dull, as Dorian's labors were proving fruitless, and the rest of the group stood around waiting on him. Sera was getting antsy again and her snarky jokes multiplied by the hour. Even so, Dorian did not let her goad him. You had to admire his determination, even if his single-minded focus was a form a desperation. The things we cannot talk about, they can drive us to push our limits harder than anything else.

Blackwall, too, had been growing more somber with each passing day. His time to search out the Wardens was overdue, and he was anxious to follow his fate. The highway to Weisshaupt lay always in his mind, calling to him, desperate for him to set all this dreaming aside. However, his commitment to the Inquisition was not finished. His commitment to the Inquisitor was left undone.

Avalon Lavellan, the most remarkable woman he'd ever known. She was a mystery: at once an extremely private and guarded individual, but also deeply sincere and invested. What guided her? What would she do next? He could never predict a thing about her. Her lack of touch with reality infuriated him, but, even so, she'd kept him by her side. She never withdrew her trust, even after all his lies had come to light.

He'd been losing for so long. She gave him hope that, maybe, he wasn't a lost cause.

After the battle at Skyhold, after the dragon fell out of the sky, and the beginning of the Inquisition had come to an end, he approached her to discuss his return to the Grey Wardens. She simply replied, "Leave when you are ready. Stay as long as seems right." When he tried to press the matter, she interrupted him and wrapped her slender fingers around his burly hands, like one last embrace before his release. Then she locked her gaze with his and repeated those two lines, "Leave when you are ready. Stay as long as seems right." She smiled, and that had settled it.

She was not ambivalent. She cared a great deal; perhaps, at times, she cared too much. But, in that moment, she had cared enough to set him free.

Blackwall observed how she cared for each of her companions this way, giving them what they needed. Cole, fading in and out of reality, but bound inextricably to her. Sera, the wild sprite, tamed by her kindness. Dorian, the performer basking in her delight. And all the others, too. Wherever they found themselves, at Skyhold or in the field, she'd make the rounds. You never knew when she was coming, but she always seemed to know when you needed her to stop by and listen to you ramble for a piece.

A thought fluttered into Blackwall's mind: "I wonder if she was able to say goodbye to Solas. Before he left, I wonder if she was able to set him free." He fixed his gaze on the Inquisitor. She was chatting with Dorian, encouraging him, helping him look for something that probably wasn't even there.

She had lost much, yet was filled with a calm and unspoken hope.

In that moment, Blackwall knew that he would stay. She had lost Cassandra, as the new Divine. She had let Bull's sword run off with Varric and the Chargers. He was the only warrior that remained. It might not be his fate, to guard this tender woman; but, for now, it was his duty.


	9. Duffy

 

Midday was upon them. Dorian had concluded his search of the area, but gave the grounds one final examination, hoping to find any trace of the time-altering magic that would prove this mission was not for naught. The morning frost had long since melted from the landscape, and, yet, in the shadows of trees or on the dark side of the broken stone wall, patches of white snowy dust remained, like tidbits of a dream that linger long after awakening. Clouds parted in the sky, and the sun filtered down through the bare branches of birch trees, cold and white and blindingly bright.

Sera walked back and forth along the stone wall, kicking at rocks. "Why hasn't anyone fixed this wall, yet? Yeah, I can see it's wrecked. But it ain't that hard to fix a wall, innit?"

"It wouldn't be difficult, no," Blackwall considered, examining the broken stones, the scattered remains they had left after their battle in this same spot, months earlier. "But it would take time."

Sera was squinting past the wall now. "There's a house out that way," she said. "This field must be part of a farm."

Blackwall moved next to her and followed her gaze. Indeed, the field before them stretched out with rows of half-harvested crops. The food left closest to the road had been scavenged by wild animals. Corn stalks lay bent. Squash were rotting on the vine. Further away, the field seemed to have been harvested, but the soil had not been prepared properly for winter. It lay untended and exposed to the elements.

Behind a short hill, a farmhouse lay half obscured, with a thin trail of smoke disappearing in the breeze.

Cole broke the silence, "There is no need to be afraid."

Sera and Blackwall looked at each other, and then at Cole. Blackwall chuckled, "No one is afraid…here…" but his words trailed off when he realized Cole was not addressing them. He was looking behind the wall, where a young boy crouched, with wide green eyes, watching them.

"A little spy, eh?" Sera jibed. "Come out 'ere and show yourself."

The boy emerged from his hiding spot. His chin lowered to his chest, a thick head of dark curly hair flopping as he walked, he approached the group. He was probably no more than five years old.

"Boy, what is your name?" Blackwall inquired.

At that, the lad lifted his chin, fiercely returning Blackwall's gaze, and replied, "My name is Duffy."

Sera laughed, "What kind of a name is 'Duffy?'"

"A good one," the boy pouted. "A… bloody…good one," he swore, hesitating over the forbidden word, but clenching his jaw defiantly, in defense of his tiny pride. Sera laughed. She like him.

Avalon and Dorain had joined the group, and they were now clustered on one side of the wall, in a sort of half circle, while Duffy stood as the focus of their attention, next to the gap where the stones should have been. Even with so many eyes turned on him, the boy did not buckle.

Sera continued her playful interrogation, "And is that your home?" She pointed across the field.

Duffy puffed up his chest. "Yeah. And that's MY wall."

She laughed, "It's not a very good wall."

Duffy furrowed his brow. "Yeah it is! My Paw made it!"

"Well, it's falling apart. Ain't your Paw gonna fix it?"

The boy's face pinched up, painful, and his chin dropped back to his chest. The pain ached out of his little heart, so tangible and poignant that it didn't take a spirit to understand what was unsaid. This brave little child had been through a lot. Nevertheless, Cole leaned into the pain, turned it over inside of him, and formed Duffy's muddled feelings into words: "Burned toast. Crops rotting in the fields. Trying to care for her, but she's just getting worse. Slipping away. Nobody makes toast like Maw, a little bit of honey mixed in with the butter. But Paw doesn't know. He's not supposed to make toast."

Duffy was shocked. He looked up at Cole, shaken by his words, fighting back tears.

Avalon looked the child over. His overalls were fastened, but one strap was twisted. And he was wearing a sweater, but it was unbuttoned. There was a bit of food smudged on his cheek. And his hair, as wild and endearing as it might be, looked like it hadn't been brushed for a week. She knelt down, capturing his attention with her kind eyes, "Duffy, is it?"

Duffy shook head: Yes.

"Is your Paw nearby? Can you take us to him?"

In reply, the boy walked over to Cole, took his hand, and then started to tug him through the field.

Cole, bewildered, followed clumsily for his first few steps, looking back at the group, awkwardly, as they chuckled at him.

The rumbling laugh still in his throat, Blackwall placed a hand on Sera, keeping her back. "Let's stay for a bit. I have an idea." Hearing his words, Avalon caught Blackwall's gaze, then looked down at the scattered boulders, and back again. They smiled at each other. She knew what he was up to.

Duffy led Cole toward his home behind the hill, while Dorian and Avalon followed in their wake.


	10. Morna

Touch was an altogether unnerving experience for Cole. With Duffy's little hand clenching his own, the song and sorrow of the little boy's soul blared so loudly that it drowned out all other sensation. Memories were transposed on top of each other, like translucent images one could see through to view the next. Cole was peering through dozens of related memories spliced together, like cards in a deck…

Planting in springtime, year after year, his mother silhouetted by the golden sunset with honeyed hair in a bright yellow dress, early morning dew, watching the bees collect nectar from the flowers, laying under the trees with his sister and dreaming at the clouds.

The way his mother laughed under this tree…when they had a summer picnic, when they took a break from harvest, when they were rolling in the snow, when he was but a little babe, cradled in her arms…always kicking her head back, her grin wide, her laughter ringing like it would never fade.

The way he'd run through the field with his sister…slipping between corn stalks for a place to hide, jumping over the harvested rows, bare feet cold against the soft earth of new spring…so many chases through these field, knit together by the common experience of one little mind. There were so many memories here, like sediment, layered into each step as they crossed the field towards the only home the boy had ever known.

It was too much for Cole to process.

As they neared the farmhouse, and what waited within, darker memories emerged…running from the road, holding the image of his mother in his mind, the way her head was bent back and slack, but not from laughter this time. Tears streaking his eyes. Running. Running. Looking for Paw.

Duffy hesitated at the threshold, summoning the courage to go in.

The farmhouse was simple, but well-built. White washed walls were crisscrossed by dark wooden supports, in the Redcliffe fashion. Ivy vines trailed along the wall, but the leaves had long since withered and drifted away. The windows were smudged and the curtains were disheveled.

"Duffy, is that you?" a young girl's voice came from within, and footsteps approached the doorway. "I've been looking all over for…" as she emerged from the house, she stopped in her tracks. Her shock quickly turned into a discerning eye-squint as she took in the three strangers before her that her brother had led to her home.

She held herself with the confidence of a young adult, but she was still a child. Womanhood had not changed her girlish figure. Her simple woolen dress was covered by a stained white apron two sizes too big. She crossed her arms over her chest, floured hands leaving smudges on her sleeves.

"Morna, don't be a snot face," Duffy mumbled.

"I am NOT a snot face!" Morna blushed.

Duffy turned his defiance on his sister, jutting out his chin, daring her to defy him. "These are my friends."

"You don't have any friends."

"I do now."

Avalon stepped forward, leaning towards the young girl, "If I may, Miss Morna, we mean no intrusion." She smiled and waited for the girl's expression to soften. "We were just travelling along the road and noticed that the rock wall to your field needs mending. We thought we'd stop and check in on you."

At the mention of the rock wall, a wave of memories poured out of Morna, and Cole patched them together with the scenes from her brother's mind.

Duffy had not seen it happen: the bright green light that tore open the air, the way beams of green lightning shot out of it, how her mother had pushed her out of the way, while the strange magic zapped her body, making her glow, until she fell onto the earth, stunned and singed. Morna tried to drag Ma away, but her legs were moving unbearably slowly, as if she had been caught in a tidal wave of air that was restricting her and trying to pull them apart. More arcs of power sprayed out of the crack in the air, striking the ground around them, and Morna roused her mother just in time for them to tumble together behind the rock wall, where they collapsed into a heap.

That's when Duffy found them. "Go get Paw!" she'd yelled, and her brother shot off into the fields while Morna cowered, silent and shaking, listening to her mother's uneven breaths as she lay her body like a shield over her mother's, praying for a miracle.

Paw had carried his wife home, and ever since then, she lay in bed, aging years in the manner of weeks, a slow torment, with the promise of an early death any day now.

Morna eyed the strangers, one by one, trying to figure out how to get rid of them; but before she could speak, Cole interjected, "She is almost gone. While he is kneeling, whispering, pleading…Oh, please, Maker, take her pain and put it on me. If I have ever done anything good, take your favor from me and show it to her…but no answer, no time left, each moment might be her last…"

At Cole's words, Duffy, pushed past his sister, leading his friends inside.

Avalon paused by the girl's side. "Can you show me the way, Morna? Perhaps we can help?"

Morna responded with one jerky nod. She was fighting back tears. Cole's words had cut past her defenses and opened up the fears of her sensitive heart. The Inquisitor lay her hand on the girl's back and walked alongside her into the unkempt house.


	11. The Healers

Dorian and Avalon lingered in the living area with little Morna, while Duffy led Cole, hand in hand, to the back room.

Along the inner wall, the hearth kept the room warm. It was an impressive fireplace, reaching up to the ceiling with thick yellow bricks. The back of the hearth likely warmed the private rooms on the opposite side of the wall, as well as radiating heat into this common room. Its large and open face to the kitchen nook was smoldering with a bundle of warm coals, choked under a blanket of ash. A door lay beyond the fireplace, leading down into a cellar.

Against the far wall, a hand pump emptied into a deep washbasin attached to the wall. Shelves held kitchen supplies, bowls and cups stacked in a disorderly fashion. A lump of dough lay on the table, where Morna had been kneading it, a small sac of flour open, and the white powder sprinkled across her workspace. The hutch across from the table was bare, and plates were haphazardly shoved to the corner of the table or stacked beside the hand pump, waiting to be washed. A pile of rags and dirty clothes was pushed up against the wall.

"Sorry about the mess," mumbled Morna. "We do the best we can, but…" she couldn't bring herself to put the thoughts into words, to acknowledge her predicament and make it real by stating it aloud.

"Nobody cares about that sort of thing," Avalon said, kindly, resting her hand on the girl's shoulder.

When Duffy entered the bedroom, he left Cole standing in the doorway and stepped gingerly to his father. The man was no older than forty, kneeling before the bed, his forehead pressed against the mattress, his lips moving, whispering prayers of desperation.

Between his palms he held the wrinkled and shriveled hand of an old woman. She lay in the bed, her muscles deflated, the skin on her body stretched like a translucent bag over a collection of bones. Her cheeks were gaunt, her mouth open as she slept, and her chest seemed like it would break under the strain of expanding with each new breath she took. When she breathed, her lungs rasped like they had fluid caught up in them, and, with each exhale, a raking clatter dragged through the room. Her hair, or what was left of it, was thin and white and wiry against her scalp. She was so near death's door, it was as if she was already transforming into a ghost.

Cole tore his gaze away from them. The window across the room let in the pale light of dusk, from the sun setting on the opposite side of the house. The curtains were pulled back, and there were smudged fingerprints on the glass. The room was dusty and the air was still, but you could tell this was once a happy place. The walls were painted a pale pink, and two framed silhouettes hung above a dresser drawers, one for each child.

Duffy shifted his weight from one foot to the other before poking his father in the shoulder to get his attention.

The man lifted his head as he reached his arm out to embrace his son. "What is it, Duffy?" He drew him into an embrace. With his chin over Duffy's shoulder, he looked up and spotted the bizarre young man standing in the doorway. Cole pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his ragged trousers, and, under the wide brim of his hat, his shaggy blond hair obscured his face. "Who is this?" the father asked, his eyes widening, a jolt of adrenaline rushing through his body as he realized they were not alone.

"They're here to help, Paw," Duffy said, his arms tight around his father's neck.

"Well then," the man huffed, holding Duffy in his arm as he lifted himself off of the floor. "Let's see who the Maker has sent to us, to our little slice of land at the edge of nowhere."

But, before exiting the room, the burly man turned and gazed upon the face of his wife as if it might be his last chance to see her before she passed.

Holding his son on his side, he walked into the common area to greet his guests. "The name's Liam Stoker," the words rolled off his tongue, with a lilt to it at the high points and a bit of a guttural rake over the lower register, typical of the Starkhaven dialect. "Me lad tells me ye'are here to help?" At this his face was guarded, and he examined the strangers before him, each in kind. A polished aristocratic man with rich clothes and a manicured mustache seemed the most likely leader of the three. Liam extended an open hand and shook the stranger's in a short, polite manner. "And what kind of help could you offer an 'umble farmer like me?"

Dorian shook the man's hand briskly, glancing at Avalon for direction, but she simply smiled and looked to the ground. Improvisation it is, then. Right. "Dorian Pavus, at your service. Mage extraordinaire. And these are my companions: Cole," he nodded to his right, as Cole dipped his hat in acknowledgement, "and the lovely Ava, a fellow mage," he nodded to his left, as the Inquisitor smiled, calmly meeting the farmer's gaze. She scrutinized his expression to see if he would recognize her for who she truly was, but he had more important things on his mind, and she escaped recognition. Dorian continued, "It is our understanding from the young gentleman in your arms that your wife has fallen ill."

"That's right," Liam's face was grim. "We've had doctors an' healers come through our door, but none of 'em were able t'help. They sey my Kenna is cursed. They sey a demon has 'er soul, an' there's not a thing we can do to save 'er."

With a flash in his eyes and a curve of his features, Dorian did his best to set the troubled man at ease, "That may be so, my good fellow. But you did not have us." Dorian smirked, oozing with confidence, and placed his hand on the man's upper arm. "Take us to your Kenna. Let us see if we can cure what ails her."

Liam showed Dorian to the back room where his wife lay, and Avalon followed close on their heels. The two companions entered the room, positioning themselves on either side of the bed. Avalon sat on the far side of the room, near Kenna's head. She smoothed her hair away from her wrinkled brow, speaking softly, "Hang on a little longer, my dear. Just a little longer." Then she looked up at Dorian, "What do you think?"

Dorian's brow was stitched. His hands floated above the woman, his fingers twitching as he whispered incantations. He was analyzing the woman's aura, testing the energy signature that she gave off, and, despite himself, he could not contain his excitement. He turned to address Liam, "When  _exactly_ did your wife fall ill? What exactly  _happened_  that started all of this."

"It was one of those blighted rips in the sky," Morna spoke, coming around the side of her Paw. She slipped her fingers into his free hand and leaned into him. "She saved me, stepped in the way as one of those bolts tore through the air and hit her right in the heart." Morna leaned into her Paw, an expression of guilt etched into her features.

"Right," Dorian said, exuberant, clapping his hands once together and turning back to Avalon. "This is a problem we can fix!"

"Dorian, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"No, of course not," he chided. "There is no way to know, for certain, if we have what it takes to save her." At this he leaned forward, and calmed his voice to an earnest plea, "But what other option does she have?! She's out of time."

"Alright" Avalon agreed. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

"That's the spirit!"

Dorian took out the amulet that he had crafted for such an opportunity as this, to capture any lingering time-altering magic from the rifts that had riddled this region. The stone was emerald green, laid into a dragon-bone setting, and suspended on a chain link adamantine chord.

"I never expected the vessel would be a living, breathing person," he muttered. "But, perhaps, that makes sense. Perhaps a person, like this woman before us, is the only receptacle complex enough to capture the intricacies of Fade energy without it burning her up."

Dorian sighed, and continued, "We must be careful. We need to pull out the incongruent Fade energy while leaving her spirit untouched. We mustn't weed out the wheat with the chaff."

He tested a few spells over her, feeling out the way the rift energy had woven into her being, coming up short each time.

"I have an idea," Avalon offered, after his last attempt. She looked up at Dorian, waiting to see if he was ready. He nodded. She lay one hand on Kenna's brow and hovered the hand with the anchor over the woman's frail body. She closed her eyes, and reached out with her spirit to find her way to the woman's heart.

The anchor crackled and glowed, green and electric. Avalon moved it around the woman's body, back and forth, searching for the point of impact. Dorian was at the ready, amulet in hand, attentive and hopeful. In the doorway, Liam held onto his children, one on each side, and the three of them were wide-eyed. Cole stood behind them, reaching out into the song of the moment and folding it into his memory.

The anchor pulsed and throbbed, growing more intense and charging the air in the room. Avalon concentrated, searching for echoes of a disturbance in the Fade, pushing and pulling at the Veil. Then she found it. A fissure inside the woman's chest, thin as a hair, started to pulse and crack, attracted by the magnetism of the anchor. Kenna's heart grew green and glowed within her. Her heartrate increased, and the pulses of Fade energy streamed in rhythm throughout her body. Her torso lifted. The magic inside of her was energized, pulsing, and ready to be tapped.

Avalon opened her eyes and looked at Dorian. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready as I'll ever be."

"Ok," she looked back down at her charge. "NOW."

The power erupted out of Kenna like a geyser. Avalon stood, channeling the power, funneling it towards her companion. Dorian directed it into the amulet, chanting and flourishing his hands to seal each wave safely inside. The room was bright with ethereal power. Avalon struggled to contain the rush of it all. It came, fast and furious, and she screamed out under the pressure, then focused all her will and might on channeling the energy towards Dorian and the amulet he was using to cage this corrupt force.

At last, the storm abated. Avalon flopped back against the wall, catching her breath. Dorian finished his incantations, sealing the mysterious power inside the amulet.

"Kenna! My Kenna!" Liam rushed into the room, his children at his side. "My darling, my beautiful Kenna!" He was upon her in seconds, lifting her head up from the bed, staring, dazzled into her wet and clear eyes.

Before them, she had been transformed to her former self. Her hair was thick and golden brown. Her skin was pale and creamy, her cheeks were flushed with color, her eyes were a deep mahogany brown, full of life and wonder. And her body was renewed, firm and plump like the day she was marred. "What…what happened?" she asked her family, looking around confused. "I thought…I thought I was dying. Was it all a dream?!"

"No, m'dear," Liam cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. "It was a nightmare. And now it is over."


	12. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little caveat before diving into this chapter. I took a lot of liberties with the Lavellan clan here. I hope I don't offend anyone. I am not saying that all Dalish are like this. Quite the opposite in fact. I am trying to portray this as a unique experience in Avalon's backstory. Furthermore, I am not saying I think these things are cannon...they just go well with the plot of this particular fanfic. Thank you for coming along for the ride.
> 
> So...without further ado...I give you my next chapter...
> 
> \- songs for clem

 

Growing up, Avalon Lavellan was always taught that life in the World was depraved. She was raised believing that life outside of the clan was beneath a True Elf. It was a privilege and a calling to be Dalish. It was something to be guarded very seriously, to be protected from corrupting influences, to be defended from the profanities of unsound thought.

When her clan talked about being Dalish, what they really meant was "their version of Dalish," and the elves she grew up with her entire life, they were just as suspicious and guarded about other clans as they were about city elves or humans.

This principle was subtle, one that would be hard to spot unless you lived within the nuanced meanings and codes that saturated everyday life. The elders would say, "Of course, there may be other clans that worship the Creators in truth. The Creators may reveal themselves to whomever they choose," but this was a theoretical discussion. In the practicum of everyday life, any clan that was encountered was regarded politely, at arm's length, then scrutinized and derided once out of earshot.

The Lavellan clan considered this Dalish pride. Avalon, however, considered it hubris.

Avalon was her clan's First. She had studied under Keeper Deshanna for as long as she could remember. She knew the lore of her people, as well as the correct interpretation of the ancient parables and the proper morals to derive from each story. She learned the right way to practice magic, the right way to pray, the right way to interact with members from different stations of her clan, the precise actions and expectations for holy days, and the proper rites and rituals for every ceremony, big or small. But, no matter how well she perfected the role expected of her, her heart wasn't in it. She stood apart. She never felt that she belonged.

Her clan never felt like family; and feeling alone, while surrounded by people, was just her way of life.

Avalon's mother loved her and tried to reach out to her. She recognized the way her daughter was shunned, but she would always condone the status quo with an air of fatality. "This is the way things are, da'len. This is the way things have always been. We must adjust ourselves to the old ways of Vir Tan'adahl and honor tradition." Her implication was clear: there was nothing wrong with the clan, and Avalon must adapt herself to be truer to the Faith. Avalon would lay her head on her mother's lap, and her mother would stroke her hair, a momentary comfort amidst an isolated life.

As Avalon grew and matured, both in mind and ability, she started to ask questions about the history of the Dalish and the gods. Keeper Deshanna would simply say, "Vir hara, da'len.  _Fear not, little one._  The Creators have always been and they will always be. And the Dalish will always be their people."

When a young boy in the clan started to exhibit magical powers, he was numbered the fourth mage. The clan had a strict limit of three mages, so they prepared him for exile into the woods. Avalon challenged her Keeper. "Deshanna, this is not right! We cannot simply leave him out there alone! He is too young!"

A dark look passed over the Keeper's eyes as Avalon pleaded her case. The clan grew silent. The older members stepped back, looking from the Keeper to her first. Deshanna's jaw was clenched, and she said nothing.

Her mother wrapped her arm around her shoulders and drew her away from the group, "Come, da'len. There are some things we cannot change."

Avalon allowed her mother to lead here away, but she shrugged off her embrace, "It's not right. We should try to find him another clan."

"There are no other clans nearby, da'len."

"There would be if we were not so afraid of outsiders, if we tried to live closer to others."

"This is the way things are, my child. This is the way things have always been. And this is the way things must be." Her mother looked at her with kind eyes, an expression of hurt clouded behind her words of love. Avalon sensed that her mother was not telling her the whole truth. And she felt that Deshanna's silence was also a wall built around a secret that she did not want her to know. But what secret could that possibly be? If there was a way to save a young child from death by exposure and starvation, shouldn't the clan do everything in their power to make that possible?

 _Of course not._  Avalon shook her head in dismay. From a distance, she watched the boy's mother embrace him one last time, her eyes dry, her face pulled into a blank expression. The Lavellan clan valued purity of action and devotion to the rules of Dalish life above all else.

Each question she would ask about Dalish ways would be countered with a simple response of unwavering conviction. To question these foundational beliefs any further was taken as a sign of doubt. Avalon was already treated like an outsider within her own clan, ostracized by peers and elders alike. She knew she was too inexperienced to survive the wilderness on her own, and she feared what her clan might feel compelled to do if she stirred up too much trouble, so she learned to bite her tongue and taper any questions that might burn inside of her.

She relished the moments when she could escape to the woods and lose herself amongst the flora and fauna. She ached to connect with…something. She felt called to the forest and yearned to hear it calling back, but, even there, she came up…blank…like she was missing something. It was an uncanny and unreconciled dilemma. Each time she felt called to the forest, she would go, but then she would be greeted with a harsh sense of lack.

Perhaps she should have hardened herself. She did not. She accepted loneliness as a way of life, and she endured each circumstance she found herself in as best she could, constantly pushing forward. She kept searching, kept trying, kept her spirit going with hope.  _There had to be more to life._

Her Keeper was no fool. She could see her apprentice's heart was not devout to their Dalish ways.

During one of the rare moments of their travels, when the Lavellan clan found themselves closer to civilization, Deshanna caught wind of the Conclave and asked her to attend to gather information. Avalon suspected they sent her in as much of an effort to get rid of her as anything else. Her clan did not care about human politics. They believed that the false shemlen ways would one day burn and devour them as heathens, revealing the glory of the Creators, "the only true gods."

Avalon was intimidated by the outside world. But she was also aware that her place in her clan was precarious at best. So she accepted Deshanna's offer and traveled far away from the only people she'd ever known. She wandered into the unknown, encountering foreign cultures and races, hunting for…something…she did not know what.

In her mind, "home" became, quite simply, wherever she was.

It's no wonder that Solas was so alluring. He was deeply and genuinely Elven, but he touched on something truer than the stories and rituals the Lavellan clan held so dear. He walked with a faith that was vibrant and alive. Every time he challenged the prejudices of her people, she felt her mind open up, like a shroud was being lifted, and she was seeing Reality a little more clearly.

The same traits that made clans reject him were the same things that drew Avalon to him. He disdained the traditional ways, challenging the nonsense that the Dalish were so eager to propagate. To Avalon, his controversial beliefs were a relief. It was like she finally found someone who knew how to break through the chains of ritual and uncover Truth. She could listen to him for hours (if he would only say more than two sentences to her at a time!). Her mind was hungry for his knowledge. Her heart was hunting for the kind of self-assured wisdom that came to him so easily.

When she came to realize that he was as enamored by her spirit as she was by his mind, the fact that he was smitten by her was exhilarating. Even with all his caution, even while acting so standoffish, she could tell he was keeping a strong attraction at bay. Under his armor lay a storm of passion. Every once in a while he would let his desire for her break through, and she relished these lapses and breakthroughs. She kept hope alive that, someday, he would let down his guard entirely.

She used to imagine herself following him around the wilderness, two outcasts, bound to each other by a common purpose, looking for truth in unexpected places. With Solas, she figured she could give up an idea of home altogether and roam wherever the Fade or the forest took them.

She always knew Solas would leave the Inquisition, but she never expected him to leave her. When he did, it solidified the feeling that plagued her for her entire life: that she did not belong, and she would never belong anywhere. It wasn't just about Solas rejecting her; it was about his  _way of life_  rejecting her, too. And she had resigned herself to the fact that she would never truly feel at home.

Well…not until now.

Kenna was restored to her true self. Liam and the children were hugging her and bubbling over with glee. There was shouting and laughter and so many people talking at once. The room was charged with excitement.

Liam stood and clapped Dorian on the back, startling him forward a step, with a big grin on his face. "Tonight you and your companions will be our guests! Tonight we celebrate!"

Dorian looked torn. In his moment of hesitation, Avalon stepped forward, smoothing out her dress, a soft smile on her face, "We would be honored to be your guests this evening."

"Yes, of course, "Dorian mumbled, and flushed a little at his own social stumbling.

Liam laughed, a deep, genuine roar, and ushered his guests into the common room. Kenna grabbed Morna by the elbow and whispered something into the girl's ear, then the two of them giggled and set about preparing foods.

Avalon approached Kenna, concerned, "Don't you think you should rest?"

"Rest?!" laughed Kenna, her voice like a chorus of bright Ferelden bells. "Resting is all I've done for months. I finally feel like myself, again! Tonight I celebrate, and this—" she gestured to her hands, already dusty with flour and thick in the folds of Morna's dough, "—this work is a joy to me. It is part of my celebration!"

Avalon quirked a grin and rolled up her sleeves, "Then it's not something I don't want to miss out on! Let me help!"

Liam brought Dorian a whiskey, who promptly accepted it then made himself comfortable, lounging on the hearth, stoking the fires within, preparing them for the baked goods the ladies were preparing. Then Liam asked Duffy to lead him to the other companions.

Duffy laced his fingers into Cole's hand and pulled him along. "Come on! This way!"

Those who were left in the house cleared away the messes, cleaned up the room, washed the dishes and made space for all the extra bodies that were expected. By the time the bread was warm from the oven, Liam returned with his son and Avalon's three companions in tow, announcing that the wall, too, was now mended.

Liam put drinks in everyone's hands, then he stood with his mug of ale raised high as a silence fell over the room. "This morning, when I awoke, I thought, f'sure, this day would be meh Kenna's last." At this, the burly man freely shed a few tears. "But now, as the sun has set, she is as young as the day I met her," at this Kenna tsked and blushed, chuckling. Liam chuckled, in return, smiling through his tears. "Here's to many more morn's and moons to come. HOORAH!" At that he swallowed his ale in one gulp.

"HOORAH!" they all cheered, kicking back their heads and emptying their glasses, except for Sera, who was drinking straight out of a wine bottle pressed up to her lips.

The cheeses were pulled out of storage. The cured meats and sausages were on the table in celebration. Jars of fruits and fermented vegetables were opened and shared around a common table.

Kenna pulled out a fiddle and struck up a lively tune, while Blackwall sang and stomped along. Liam flung little Morna into his arms and danced his daughter around the room. Sera grabbed Dorian by the arm and pulled him into a dance. Little Duffy brought a tambourine out and showed Cole how to play it. Everyone was singing and shouting and clapping their hands. The joy was infectious. The love and togetherness of this little family saturated every corner of their home.

Avalon laughed, letting the energy flow through her as she danced along. All her worries slipped away. She was fully and simply in the present moment, full of life and laughter. She spun and dipped, clapping her hands and stomping her feet, keeping rhythm with the music. She had never felt so perfectly content, so free to simply be.

Flushed and exhausted, she finally parked herself on a bench, sipping her wine and reveling in the exuberance of the moment.

She found herself watching Duffy as he worked his way around the room, such a commanding little presence inside such a small body. She would catch him working something over in his mind, like a dog with a bone. He saw how things functioned, how people operated, and he'd interject himself at just the right moment to help, make a joke, or play a trick on his sister. Then something would make him laugh, and he'd kick back his chin and roar in glee, his curly hair flopping wildly as he shook his head.

He reminded Avalon of her commander, and she wondered if her adviser had been like this as a boy. Was his curly hair as wild as Duffy's? Was this how he used to play with his sisters? Was his spirit unquenchable and strong even then?

When Duffy ran into his mother's arms, and she pulled him into a tight snuggle, Avalon felt it touch a deep longing inside of her that she did not understand.  _One day, maybe, she, too, would have a little son run into her arms._  She felt her heart turning over on itself.  _But not just any boy. A boy with curly hair._ At once, she felt both on fire and emptied _._ It was confusing.  _Curly hair, just like his father's._ She was confused, but her mind didn't have time to take the lead as her feelings were hitching up, presenting her with a yearning.

It wasn't as simple as the yearning for a child. No. That was just an expression of something deeper.

She wanted  _him_  to be here. This moment of joy felt, somehow, incomplete without him.  _She_  felt incomplete without him. But it was not that she felt like less of a person than she was before. No. Instead, it felt like her heart was growing bigger to accommodate this sudden need.

This was too new, too strange.

Avalon looked down. She traced the embroidery on her dress with her index finger, one intricate rose weaving into another. She was flushed. It must be the wine. It must be the excitement of the moment. She was just…worked up. Her eyes unfocused, and the image of him sitting across from her in her chambers filtered in from her memory…the way he was so intimate and yet so respectful…the deep way in which he cared. The spark inside of her was rising up into her throat, while burning something wild inside her chest. She caught her breath. It wasn't possible for her to feel this way…no…it wasn't possible…

She exited the house in a flurry, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. The night air blasted onto the bare skin of her cheeks and neck, and she welcomed it, trying to sober herself up away from the crowd and the commotion. But, once she was alone, the fantasy that had presented itself did not waver. In fact, it became clearer.

She leaned against the wall of the house, frost crunching under her feet. The fields were etched with swaying grass. The trees in the distance were indigo against the shadows beyond them. Up above, the clear sky glimmered with thousands of stars, and the crescent moon hung gingerly amongst them.

She felt the plastered wall of the cottage pressing against her back. The air was clear and crisp, and it nipped at her exposed face. Eyes shut, she envisioned him standing before her, feathered coat warm and soft against the night air, a slight flush to his cheeks in response to the chill, his golden eyes gazing deep into her own.

She imagined him holding her hips with his strong and sure hands, pressing her against the house, steadying her there. She remembered the smell of him, like moonlight, the way his stubble had felt against her skin, the way he'd sent shocks down her spine that reverberated even now.

His hands would move up to her waist, to secure her in an embrace. Her heart was throbbing. She could not open her eyes. Slowly, he would lean in, lowering his mouth towards her own. The moonlight would play on his hair. She would lift her chin, wet her lips in expectation, and—

The door to the farmhouse opened. The sounds of laughter and dancing spilled into the night, shattering her reverie. "Leave the party in such a flurry, and you are sure to make a gentleman speculate." Dorian had emerged, with a coy smile thick in his voice. His bravado did nothing to mask the concern nestled there. The unasked question of why she had stormed out hung in the silence between them.

"I just," she opened her eyes and ran her hand down her stomach, steadying herself against the throbbing that had blossomed inside of her. Her voice was breathless. "I just need a moment." She gave her friend a guarded smile. "Alone."

"Alright, m'dear," he conceded, with a slight bow and a flourish of his hand. "I will be right here., if you change your mind. You only have to speak the word." He regarded her carefully, as he slipped back inside.

Avalon nodded, and he disappeared. Then she pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and crunched off into the field, hoping that a short jaunt would help her shake these…sensations…that were rising up, unbidden. She can't be feeling this way. Not again. Not so soon. Solas had unlocked the rooms of her heart and it nearly destroyed her. She was just starting to put the pieces of her life back together. Having feelings like this for the commander, such intimate feelings, when she was still grieving over Solas…it just felt wrong. It felt disloyal to both of them.

But, as she stopped to look up at the stars, there was only one person on her mind. There was only one person whom she wondered about, if he was staring up into that very sky at that selfsame moment. And that person was not the elusive elf who had tortured her with his absence. No. The person she thought of, the person she yearned for, was the one who had always stood by her side, pouring himself out while expecting nothing in return. He was always warm and supportive and inviting towards her.

But, Creators, this feeling was not safe. This feeling was not easy or comfortable. This feeling went against everything that she had always known or expected or been taught about The Way Things Should Be. Even so, it was undeniable: this feeling was a part of her. It made her feel alive. This was more real that all of the nonsense she had been bound to for her entire life.

It shocked her to realize: if feeling this way was wrong, she no longer cared about being right.

In that moment, she ached to return to Skyhold. She was still the same nomad that she always had been, a wanderer with a vagabond heart. But the one thing that had changed, the one thing that had shifted ever so slightly, the one thing that made all the difference, is that she finally realized that she had found a place that finally felt like home. She had found a person that made her feel like home.

She imagined herself lacing her fingers with his, pressing her body into his strong frame, listening to his deep and genuine laugh. And that person was Cullen Rutherford.


	13. Sweet Dreams

By the time Avalon Lavellan made it back to the farmhouse, the festivities had simmered down. Liam and Blackwall were lounging outside, analyzing the seasons and the crops over their pipes of tobacco. They nodded to Avalon as she entered, without missing a beat in their conversation. Indoors, Dorian was tending to the fire, while Sera was curled up, snoring, by the hearth. Little Morna was hunched over on the table, sleeping as well. Kenna had pulled out all of their blankets and was laying out bedding on the floor. In a corner, little Duffy was curled up on Cole, clutching his hand, sleeping like a little cub.

Cole looked up from Duffy, befuddled at his predicament. "I guess…I'll just stay here tonight?"

Kenna and Avalon laughed, and the boy's mother laid a hand on his head before answering Cole. "I think that would be just about the sweetest thing." She smiled kindly at Cole, "Thank you."

Then she turned to Avalon. "I've laid out some things for you. Make yourselves comfortable."

"It's more than enough. Thank you."

Then Kenna walked over to the table to rouse Morna, and the two hobbled arm-in-arm to the back of the house.

"Feeling better?" Dorian inquired from across the room. The warm embers cast a red glow on his features.

She smirked, "That remains to be seen."

"Fine. Keep your secrets," he huffed, feigning injury. "But if it's something delicious, you  _do_  have to tell your fine ole chap. Eventually."

Avalon straightened the line of her mouth and cocked an eyebrow at him, "Good night, Dorian."

"Fine! Fine!" he chuckled. "I can take a hint." Then, with a somber tone he approached her and pulled the amulet out from his cloak. "Tomorrow we can discuss more…delicate matters."

Avalon covered the amulet with her hand and pushed it back towards him. "Put that away. We will not even  _think_  of experimenting with it until we've gotten it back to Skyhold and had a chance to analyze it. I want Dagna to give it a thorough examination. We have no idea what we could be dealing with here."

"I couldn't agree more," he concurred, sliding it back into his inner pocket. His eyes twinkled, "You have to admit, however: it's pretty fantastic, no matter what it turns out to be."

Avalon allowed herself to join in his fascination, "Yes. That it most definitely is. Dangerous. Curious. And utterly fascinating!"

The two of them chattered as they laid out bedding, giddy about the exciting possibilities that awaited them, embodied by the amulet. Then they slipped under their blankets. Avalon laced her fingers behind her head and stared up into the rafters, questions and hopes streaming distractingly through her mind.

Cole had lowered his head; he seemed to be sleeping (if he ever did sleep), or perhaps he was just lost in thought. The sounds of Sera's snores drifted through the room. There was a dull murmuring from the men outside. The two friends were as alone as they could be in a small, crowded room.

"Dorian?"

"What? What's that? Did you say my name?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry. I was drifting off. What is it?"

"How did you know…when Bull was…more…than just a colleague?"

"Oh…I'd have to say it was when he showed up in my chambers and accused me of lusting after him." He chuckled, "I denied it, of course. But the more I thought about it, the less I could get that big, obnoxious Qunari out of my mind. So I decided to go to his quarters, one night, and confront him about how insufferable he was. One thing led to another…and…well…" he laughed, "You know the rest."

Avalon lay silent, thinking, smiling.

"Dare I ask?"

She startled, "What? Huh?"

Dorian smiled and sat up, leaning on his elbow and looking her over. "Dare I inquire as to why you are asking?"

She blushed. "Oh! I was just wondering. Thinking about him and you…being so far apart…and how hard that must be when you… _feel_ …so much…for each other…"

"Oh is that all?" He grinned cockily and laid back down. "Well...I guess I am lucky to have a friend who spends so much time obsessing over my romantic well-being."

He was insufferable. She knew her feelings must be obvious to him. But she was not ready to talk about it. Not here. Not now.

So she just turned her back to him, steadying her breathing, and she willed herself to fall asleep.

But, as she drifted off, there was an expectant hope in her heart.

* * *

Meanwhile, Cole wrestled with his thoughts:

_I need to help her, but I cannot get to her._

_Churning, yearning, burning inside. Her spirit is on fire but I'm not by her side. She rushed out the door and into the night. Cold, crisp, clear…confusing desires and fears. Her mind is a scatter of pieces and thoughts. But I cannot draw near. I am yoked, taken, woven with needs. I am pulled apart, stretching my mind, but it pulls me apart. I don't want to release her. I'm afraid to let her dream alone._

_But this Duffy, this little dreamer, anchored to me, like a boat in the harbor of my arms. I am the ocean, and he drifts in my calm. This little dreamer, requiring all of me, tonight his needs are strong._

_I close my eyes, concentrate, enumerate, just one and one, trying to hold them both in my mind, but it pulls me apart. The boy's dreams are too loud. His touch drowns her whisperings out._

_She needs me. She needs me to hold together her mind. She needs me to keep her from falling apart. She needs me to…the boy's need grows louder and…ah…I cannot…I cannot…it's too much…I cannot…_

_I don't want to release her._

_I don't want to let her down._

_She needs me._

_But there's nothing I can…I cannot…I have to let her dream on her own…for tonight…I have to let her mind roam where it may go…_

_May the Fade and the Spirits be kind while she is alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (pst) I just published a one-off of Avalon + Solas, set earlier in their story, if you want to take a look: Wash Away My Fears, http://archiveofourown.org/works/4404356


	14. The Spirit of Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated Mature for Romantic content.
> 
> ^_^ You're welcome.

_Avalon came-to on the floor of a whitewashed room, hair pulled into dreadlocks and body wrapped into soft leathers. She felt like she'd hit her head. Her vision was blurry, and she reached up to touch her crown. It ached in response, and a pain shot through her brain, her vision igniting like white lightening. Pressing her palms to her temple, she steadied her breathing until the throbbing subsided._

_The air was thick and humid. The pitter patter of rainfall thrummed against the forest canopy outside her window. She stood up to take in her surroundings._

_The room was completely white: whitewashed walls, with a white floor of uniform square tiles under her bare feet. The masonry was excellent, but showed signs of age: yellowing grout, a missing tile here, a crack in the wall there. Outside the open window, the waxy leaves of lush trees grew thick and clustered high beyond her line of sight. In the corner of the ceiling, a few cobwebs were netted. A line of dust was caked into the crack between the floor and the wall._

_Instead of a door, the room had an opening that led to a hallway. It had whitewashed walls and a white tiled floor, just like the room she awoke in. The hallway stretched out to the right and to the left, eventually disappearing around unmarked corners._

_She chose a direction, arbitrarily, and made her way tentatively down the hallway, turning into one corridor, then another. There were rooms here and there, and some were connected sporadically to rooms further in, but all of the rooms were empty. As she made her way deeper and deeper into the maze of corridors and chambers, the rain became muffled. Windows were placed at unpredictable yet astute intervals to let in a diffused light. But there were no signs of life. There was just the feeling of discovering a lost, empty secret._

_"White is the color of death," she muttered to herself, voicing the realization as it entered her mind. She ran her hand along the whitewashed wall. "I wonder if this is a tomb." A bit of the plaster came off in her hand, and she rubbed it between her fingers as it smeared on her skin, like chalk. She absentmindedly wiped it on her side, and it smudged her leather tunic._

_Were the walls blank because they had been cleaned? Or because they had never been marked, in the first place? There was an eerie quality to the starkness of these labyrinthine passageways. They seemed both ancient and familiar, sterile yet aching to be filled with life._

_She started to make out the sounds of birds chirping in the distance._

_Eventually, the halls led to a courtyard, roof open to the cloudy sky above. Thick vines and vegetation were spilling over the eaves, invading the bleak architecture with heady and relentless life. A thin fog settled down from the tree line, hovering just within sight, like the promise of a dream within a dream. Off of the chamber there were spacious enclosures, each branching out with rooms and hallways of their own._

_Avalon stood in the center of the room, filled her lungs with the humid air, closed her eyes, and lifted her chin, listening for the birds. She couldn't place the direction of their persistent chatter. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time._

_When she opened her eyes, she saw a small yellow bird perched a few yards in front of her on a low hanging vine. A canary. Her heart leapt, delighted. Almost as if it in response to her gaze, the bird took flight and disappeared down a passageway._

_Immediately, she followed after it._

_Vines grew through windows in these new passageways, or sprawled along the floor or walls, breaking through the stillness of blank space with bursts of life. As she pursued the canary, the vines and leaves twisted into impossible nooks and crannies, growing in the stillness of forgotten rooms. Ferns sprung out of corners, erupting through upturned tiles like verdant explosions. Morning glories peeked out of the shade, petals like cones, turned upward toward the gentle light._

_All the while, as she chased the canary through corridor after corridor, the soles of her feet slapped against the cold floors, as the sound of the chirping intensified. Through a series of small rooms, down a hallway, the singing and chatter continually mounted. Her heart was beating like a drum. She was giddy with anticipation. Up three stairs, a right angle, and then another short hallway, and then she stopped. What she saw took her breath away._

_Before her lay a courtyard with dozens upon dozens of birds: yellow and white canaries. The courtyard was divided into two colors: the left half was painted white, like the rest of the maze (or tomb or mausoleum or whatever-this-place-was); the right half was painted yellow, to match the yellow of the canaries. Vines grew down from the open ceiling, dozens of verdant ropes weaving back and forth, concentrated in this open chamber, providing perches for the birds as they flew back and forth between the white and yellow sides of the room._

_She couldn't stop smiling. The sight filled her with happiness. It was like a dance, or a living work of art, or the start of a new beginning for the empty canvas of this space._

_The yellow paint piqued her curiosity. It was the first sign of a presence, of someone leaving a mark in these vacant rooms. And it was here, of all places, where she found the birds. This must be the epicenter. This place was important._

_More and more birds took flight, as if they were coming right out of the plaster on the walls. How many birds were there? Hundreds? Thousands? Their song rose, a giddy and delighted chatter. As they filled the air, Avalon felt her heart soar with them. It felt magical…utterly surreal. The white and yellow birds blurred from one side of the room to the other._

_Then, all of a sudden, every single one of them flocked together and flew off through the open roof of the courtyard. The force of their departure left goosebumps on her arms. Lavellan stood in place, staring up at the open sky, listening to their dying song until it was so faint that it was drowned out by the raindrops on the leaves in the canopy beyond. She sighed, content. Witnessing such a beautiful sign of life inside such a barren and lifeless place, it comforted her in a way that she could not put into words._

_As she was meditating on these things, she noticed: one yellow canary was left in the room. Was he the same on that led her here? He was sitting in the middle of the floor, one foot on a white tile, and one foot on a yellow tile. When he saw that she noticed him, he chirped in acknowledgement._

_"Hello, little fellah," she replied._

_The canary flew over to her. Intuitively, she stretched out her hand. He alighted on her finger and chirped again. He cocked his little yellow head and gazed into her eyes._

_Somehow, instinctively, she knew this was a Spirit of Joy, and he nestled in his flock like the warm reassurance of true contentment under a thousand absentminded smiles. Perhaps each bird in the flock was the spirit of one of those smiles._

_Lavellan didn't know how to react, so she waited, mesmerized._

_The canary flew up into the room, through the vines, and, instead of perching, he disappeared into a dark doorway in the corner at the other side of the chamber._

_Lavellan walked past the white side of the room, proceeding over the yellow tiles, ducking under vegetation. A strange hope lifted within her heart with each step she took over the bright and cheerful tiles. She made it quickly across the room, then she stood, peering through a short doorway into a hall that was covered in shadow. There were no vines growing here, as there was no light to nourish them. How odd, to find the only dark hideaway in the entire place, tucked away as an offshoot of the vibrant epicenter._

_She held her breath, and ducked inside._

_She could tell that the hallway was small, but it wasn't until she stepped inside that she realized how narrow it truly was. At the end was a short archway, barely taller than a child. She crouched down on all fours, and crawled through._

_Everything was pitch black. The tile was cool against her palms. The air was chilly, and goosebumps prickled at the back of her neck. She shuffled forward on her knees, using one hand to steady herself, and the other to feel for a wall. Her mind was open, reaching. Her senses were open and raw._

_She turned to rest her back against the wall and settled in, crouching there, waiting for her eyes to adjust._

_Everything was nothingness._

_Silence filled the room. She could feel the darkness press against her skin, as if it was tangible, taking up the shape of the space around her. It pushed against her, as if it was attempting to take up the shape of the space inside of her._

_Then, as her eyes adjusted to the void, faint lines and shapes started to glow on the wall and form into murals. The pictures glowed just enough to be perceptible to her sharp elven eyes, but the scenes faded in and out of reality, as if screens were being pulled across her vision. Through the haze, the scenes were difficult to recognize, but the style of the frescoes seemed…familiar._

_A pain shot through her head, as if it would cleave her skull apart, and she pressed her fingers to her temples, willing the ache to subside. She remained as still as possible, exerting pressure on her head, waiting until the pain subsided._

_"Little bird," she spoke, anxiously. "Are you in here?"_

_She heard a sigh. The whispered words: "Thank you, old friend. I am in your debt." The beating of tiny wings, and the bird must have taken flight. But that voice. That voice! She knew that voice! It couldn't be!_

_As her heart skipped up into her throat, the bird started to glow, a dim flicker of hope lit up within a tomb of fears. It flew circles within the room, a flickering illumination falling over her. And him. There he was._

_"Ma Vhenan, I have searched the reaches of the Fade for you, and now you are here."_

_Solas stood across from her. The light from the canary cast a faint glow over his features, strobing streams of light into the darkness. She slumped against the wall of the chamber, falling back against her haunches._

_He moved to her through the shadows, his steps deliberate and composed, like a dance. She could see the throbbing fire of joy swell from the canary and light up his silhouette. He knelt before her, reached out to take her hands, and leaned down to kiss her open palms. When his lips connected with her anchor, it sparked up, casting its glow upon the two of them, scattering eerie illumination out into the room. And a piece of his essence was stitched into her life force._

_She couldn't catch her breath. How many times had she ached for him? How often had she hoped against hope that she would be able to be with him once again, if only for the briefest of moments, (if only to be able to finally say goodbye). She reached up and touched his face, and he nuzzled his cheek into her hand. "Solas, is it really you?"_

_"I have been a fool," he sighed, pressing his thumbs into her palms, squeezing her hands. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her tender cheeks, her elegant and unmarked features. He ran his fingers over her forehead and down her brow, where her vallaslin had once been. He'd forgotten how beautiful she was. He'd forgotten how happy he was for her whenever he saw her freed from her markings._

_The way he was looking at her was stirring up old feelings. She felt the echo of the aches that had reverberated throughout her heart. "You left," she said, feeling the full weight of their separation anew, as the words stumbled out of her mouth. It wasn't an accusation. There wasn't even bitterness in her words. It was just a statement, a wound inside of her heart formed into words._

_"I am so sorry."_

_And, yet, here he was. Solas. He was clothed in the same outfit he wore when they first met: crisscross weaves, an olive vest with soft feathers against his bare throat, the wolf bone necklace resting against his chest. Her heart-rate reacted to him: excited. The rhythm they shared came back to her: like casting a familiar spell. Her gaze flickered over his face as the light from the anchor throbbed and grew stronger._

_"I missed you, Solas. Without you, things were...difficult."_

_"Ma Vhenan…" he whispered, rising up on his knees, cupping her face in his hands and holding her head up towards him. His expression grew soft as he saw a single tear leak out of the corner of her eye and slide down her face. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, catching the tear in its path._

_Another canary flew into the room, glowing, casting its flickering light against the walls. And another piece of his being was stitched to hers._

_He licked the saltiness off his lips. Then he smoothed the hair back from her face, his eyes a confession of all the apologies he would never have time enough to say. "I have missed you terribly."_

_She placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying herself. Her chin fell to her chest, and she wept, her composure melting like rain in the tumultuous gravity of his presence._

_He shifted to sit on the floor beside her and pulled her into his arms, cradling her in his lap. She melted into the obscurity of his embrace, resting her head against his chest._

_He held her against him as her crying intensified. He knelt over her, wordlessly, kissing away the tears that wet her face. He kissed her cheeks. He kissed the bridge of her nose. He kissed her closed eyelids, her temples, her jawline, her chin. His lips were soft, kind, attentive. His kisses soothed her even as they let loose the sadness she had been carrying around, caged, within her heart for so long._

_With each tear that he kissed away, the canaries filtered into the room, one by one, flying in tight circles above them, lighting up the room like flickering lanterns. And with each kiss, he tethered himself to her. The sorrow lifted from her heart. Her tears abated._

_His alabaster skin was warm with the glow of the birds whirling around the room. She searched his face, looking for neither answers nor questions, but just the reassurance of his presence._

_Solas stood, pulling her up into his arms, gazing into her wondrous brown eyes. Her hair fell over her shoulders in long tight spools. Flowers and beads were woven into her hair like a mystical crown. Her cheeks here flushed and her mouth was soft and red. In his rhythmic, lilting voice, he soliloquied:_

"O sweet spontaneous Avalon  
how often have the doting fingers of  
Mages and Templars  
pinched and poked thee,  
has the naughty thumb of the Dalish  
marred thy beauty.  
How often has the Chantry taken thee  
upon its scraggy knees, squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightiest conceive  
gods;

(but true to the incomparable couch of  
death,  
thy rhythmic lover,  
thou answerest them only with  
spring)."

_Her heart turned over on itself, as his words ignited a fire in her belly._

_"Oh, Solas…"_

_How could she resist him if was going to speak to her with such allure?! Oh, how she had missed the sound of his voice…how she had craved his words, the way his mind cut through the clutter of reality to pull out the extraordinary beauty of an ordinary moment. It was intoxicating._

_The moment was bittersweet. She was trying to move on, but here he was, compassionate and connected and meeting her every longing. She reached out and touched his face, rubbing her thumb over his freckled cheek, then running her fingers down his neck and resting her hand at last on his chest, over his heart. "I wish you had stayed."_

_He sighed. "I wish I had stayed, too._ Now _I wish I had stayed. I wish I had done a lot of things." The birds were pouring into the room now, filing the space with energy and light. He reached up and placed his hand on his chest, over hers. "I wish I had..." he paused, fumbling for the right words. "I wish I had stayed. I do."_

_She searched Solas' face. "But why? Why did you go?"_

_"I don't know. I felt like a scared little child, whenever I was around you. I was afraid I would lose myself... I was in above my head, I don't know."_

_"You were scared?"_

_Solas bowed his head, "Yes. I was terrified. I thought you knew that about me. I thought that, if I stayed with you a moment longer, I would betray myself." He looked back up into her eyes. "I wanted to tell you…things…that I would never tell anyone else. But I could not. So I ran away, trying to outrun my humiliation, I think." There was so much to be ashamed of._

_She cocked her head and touched his face, gingerly. "Oh, I'm sorry."_

_He cradled her head, running his fingers up her soft neck. "It's okay." He looked into her eyes. Her expression was melancholy, but kind. "…I suppose…now it doesn't make a difference." He had forgotten how comforting she was. He wanted to tell her everything. He drew her nearer._

_She wrapped her hands around his waist like the memory of their last embrace. His clothing was textured and rough under her fingers._

_Then he slid his arm around her, behind her waist, running his hand from the small of her back down to her tailbone and slid his grip to the side to press her up against him._

_Even though she felt a warning tickling her mind, she ignored it, surrendering to his hold on her; this was her chance for closure._

_He paused, searching her countenance. Perhaps she would allow him a moment of pleasure. He leaned his mouth down, slowly, waiting for her to push him away. When she did not, he placed his lips against her own in a light kiss, like two soft flowers brushing up against each other._

_They were knit together, their spirits swelling up and igniting in response to each other. The yellow and white canaries blurred faster and faster around the room, and the shadows of the wall transformed into blackbirds that took flight and joined the gyroscopic flurry. Chink by chink the wall was absorbed by the flock until there were no walls left, and the two dreamers stood in a room made entirely of birds._

_Her heart was beating in her throat._

_He kissed her, and she kissed back. Her mouth was like a song, warm and light and quick to turn over the rhythm of his soul. As their lips parted, she pulled his head down and kissed him again, urgently, willing all the hauntings of her pain to be expunged from her memory. He pulled her up and into him. She wrapped her hand behind his neck and held him there, opening herself up to him. Then she smiled against his mouth and brushed the tip of her nose back and forth against his own._

_He felt like he could crawl inside her embrace and spend the rest of his days living in the memory of this moment._

_The birds were flying, spinning, faster and faster, until they slowly started widening their circuit and spreading further and further out._

_He returned her tenderness. He trailed kisses from her cheek, down the line of her jaw, and, at last, he placed his mouth against her neck, feeling the quick thrum of her heartbeat underneath the nervous cluster of his lips. Clenching her against his ethereal body, he felt more solid; he felt that, as long as he was bound to her, as long as he was cemented into her memory, he would not drift away from existence._

_He felt a hunger growing inside of him, but, as he returned to her mouth in search of the muscle of her warm desire, he realized his most vital need was something deeper. It was born of words, things that had gone unsaid for far too long. He pulled himself away, her face flushed, pain and fate in her eyes. She was preparing herself for a goodbye._

_"My heart, my dear sweet Avalon, you deserve to know the truth."_

_What was he talking about? The kissing. The feel of his skin. His body so close to hers that she felt entirely riled up. Her mind was too clouded to concentrate. "What? What truth? What are you talking about?"_

_Now that her focus was disrupted, she had a chance to look around, and realized that reality had shifted around them. They were now standing in the ruins of the Valley of Sacred Ashes. This is what it had looked like right after they had defeated Corypheus. The sky was grey and ominous. Blackbirds nested here and there, scattered across the rubble. Over there is where Solas had knelt over the broken orb. And that is where the stairs had led down to their companions. This was the last place she had seen him before he left._

_The canaries were nowhere to be seen._

_He furrowed his brow, uncertain how to begin. "History becomes story, and story becomes legend, and legend, sometimes, becomes a religion, a way of life. The Dalish really are nothing more than children passing down stories they've heard repeated…"_

_"…repeated incorrectly a thousand times," she grinned, humoring him. "You've told me before about the things you learned while traveling the Fade." She looked longingly at him, foreboding in her mind. She tried to muster her guile, flirting, biting her lip and grinning, "I can think of better uses for your mouth than repeating old conspiracies." She hated herself even as she coveted the carelessness with which they had just been embracing._

_He chuckled, trying to focus. It was getting harder and harder. "This is important," he said, and she smiled patiently. He paused before speaking this time, choosing his words carefully. "The elven pantheon is nothing more than a collection of extremely old, extremely powerful ancient elves. This is the truth. It is a fact. And this is not something I learned from the Fade."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"That is just it, Ma Vhenan. The reason I know all of this is because it is my story, too."_

_She looked flummoxed. "That can't be possible. That would make you…" she laughed. It was utterly impossible._

_"…very old. Ancient, in fact."_

_The meaning of his words settled in on her, and she looked at him with a mixture of fear and surprise in her eyes. She touched her fingers to her lips. Whose mouth had she just been kissing? "Solas. Who are you?"_

_He smiled, sadly, brushing his hand past her cheek, running his fingers along her ear. He could feel himself slipping away. It was now or never._

_"Who are you, Solas?" She clenched him around his waist, pressing her body maddeningly up against his own._

_He leaned in, cradling her precious head, and kissed her softly. Then he whispered in her ear, "My name, my true name, is…"_

_But just as the words left his lips, he vanished, suddenly and completely._

_Jolted out of his embrace, she caught her balance. Then she stood in the rubble, looking around herself, feeling the weight of his absence like a fresh wound gouging out her heart._

_No. Not again._

_He was gone. And the grief felt magnified. Fresh. Intolerable. Incomprehensibly woven into her being._

_The blackbirds were the only ones left in this waste, and they stared at her, ogling her grief as she fell on her knees, tears streaming down her face._

_The birds took flight and started flying in circles around her, an ever tightening cloud of feathers and beaks. Her body was shaking._

_Again._

_It happened again._

_Under the roar of their beating black wings, she cried out, wordlessly, releasing her grief into the night in a series of aching moans._

_The darkness swallowed her, holding her, until she stopped shaking, stopped feeling, stopped breathing altogether. She hovered like a waif of consciousness in the stillness of pure being._

_Her name echoed into the void. "Avalon…Avalon…Avalon…"_

* * *

"Wake up."

She sat up. Sera and Dorian were hovering above her, and Dorian was saying her name.

"What?! Huh? Whaaat…is going on?"

Sera looked perturbed. "You were having some bugger of nightmare. Your anchor was lighting up and everything. You should have heard yerself! Crying out in your sleep. I'm surprised you din' wake yerself up!"

Avalon rubbed her eyes. The room was still dark. She sat up, confused at her sudden arousal, trying to get a grip on reality.

Then scenes from her dream started rising up in her mind. Her heart felt like lead. Her face turned grim. Her mouth felt like ash. "Well, shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AFTERWORD:
> 
> Have you ever dreamt about someone who broke up with you, only to wake up and feel like your heart is being trampled on by a herd of wild elephants?
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> That.
> 
> ...oh and also...
> 
> ;) BONUS POINTS: if you can guess what scene/movie I'm echoing with the Solas x Lavellan dialogue.
> 
> And EXTRA BONUS POINTS if you recognize which poem I adapted for Solas's little poem to Avalon.


End file.
